Wonder is not precisely Knowing
And not precisely Knowing not ~
A beautiful but bleak condition
He has not lived who has not felt...
- Emily Dickinson, poem # 1331
Wonder... how often I have known it. It permeates my life. Just the sight of the moon alone is enough to send me into ecstasies, soaring the night sky.
Dan once told me years ago, long before we dated, that I had the depth of a midnight sky behind the stars: endless, unfathomable. His poetry sang to me and I knew that though my depth may be inifinite, alas, so, too, are my faults.
Glimpsing the fog rolling in front of a full moon the other night made my heart leap with the possibility, romance, adventure, and beauty of life. As always, seeing the night sky restores the strong urge in me to get lost forever in the depth of night. Darkness does not depress me. I come alive in the night time hours and respond to melancholy. It brings joy, not despair to my soul. Here's to lush, profound melancholy.
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