The moon woke me gently last night,

Briefly on his journey southward.

He knew that I would be waiting for him,

But I was deep in slumber.

The moon, and the planets and the stars,

All know that I wait for them

But I live in Portland, in the deep valley,

West of the Cascades and east of the Coast range.

Where the clouds hang in between, heavy with rain.

Autumn brings wet and blustery days and a promise of snow.

But tonight was the…. moon  the nearest he will pass by this year.

Too my chagrin, I opened my eyes as the clouds were passing by on their journey north,

They crisscrossed as though they were dancers in the sky.

Giving me only a glimpse of his majestic beauty.

I greeted him. But I cried at his departure. How fleeting was our visit.