Moon, Stars, Snow and a Wandering Wondering Mind

(Don't forget: Tonight is the Quadrantid Meteor Shower Peak, 2 a.m.)

The waning crescent and Venus light up the morning sky as the sun stains the horizon
(click on the photo to see a larger version)

This morning/imagine:
inches of light snow
air so cold your breath seemed to freeze as it left your lips
every weed and blade of grass coated with heavy, sparkling frost
that glittered like millions of tiny carved facets of glass
A rim of red and gold edging the frosty edge of earth
and up in the sky, a shining moon
one silver-bright star nearby.

I stopped to take one picture but that was all there was time for today. Work beckoned an hour away.

As I drove I wondered about snow, moon and stars. What if a person were to have a dream with any one of the three? (When I got home, I looked it up. According to the Dreamer’s Dictionary, to dream of the moon is a favorable sign. A new moon over the left shoulder means luck is ahead, and a bright, waxing moon means an exciting new project is on the way.)

Stars are also good things to dream about, especially shooting stars—these mean that success is coming although not as soon as expected. To dream of bright, twinkling stars means you will be aided to success by a powerful person of the opposite sex.

I tried to remember if I have ever dreamed of moons and stars.

I could not recall any such dreams, but I know I’ve dreamed about Orville Hartley, and I was reminded of him when I saw his former home.

That reminded me of the photo I took of it last year.
Which reminded me of this poem I wrote about Orville a couple years ago. He is gone now, but he was one of the most courteous and happy people I’ve ever met. He danced the old flatfoot style in classic style.

Orville’s Dancing Feet

Orville danced every Fourth of July
standing just to one side, in front of the stage
smiling, felt hat pulled low over his eyes
his feet seemed to move with no thought from him

Didn’t matter, the music or beat
country, rock or bluegrass were all the same
to Orville’s dancing feet
he moved from knee down only

His feet flying, a blur in perfect time
rhythm and music melted
in the hot July air as hundreds
of people watched

And wished that they had learned to do that
to dance like that
back when they were young and nimble
and dancing was the natural way to move

I always called him Orville
he called me Mrs. Ford
even after I remarried
and that no longer was my name

He danced until he was in his eighties
a polite and proper man
who did not want too much attention
for his accomplished feet

He only wanted to dance

I thought I saw him last year
standing on the grass
just to one side of the stage
his feet were flying in the shadows

His soft gray hat hid his face
and the rising darkness swallowed him
as I moved forward to say hello
I found only a worn spot in the grass

He only wanted to dance
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Somehow, I made it to work safely and on time. So if you ever wondered what I do during the hour I'm on the road in the mornings, now you know.