Firefly at Dusk

Firefly at Dusk

Tiny stars that float and flicker,
In twilit dervish dance so brusque,
Only daydreams perish quicker,
Than firefly flashes in the dusk.
High above, the stars, eternal,
Flickering, though their lives endure,
Keep their silent watch nocturnal --
Bright chroniclers of time's grand tour.
In their long view of creation,
Do souls continue burning bright,
Or flare, brief illumination --
Just firefly flashes in the night?

Mick McKellar
October 2013

When I walked out our front door this morning, I was greeted by Orion and stunned by the majesty of the early morning sky. I wondered: If the stars are watching us, how must our brief explosions of life on this Earth appear to their ageless eyes?

Mick

Dance of Days

Dance of Days

A-shimmer in the wintry morning light,
Ephemeral mist drifts on icy air.
Warm, humid, human breath shines rimy bright,
The touch of warmth no longer barely there --
As delicate mist shadows on the snow,
Caress the canyons riven through the drifts,
And tiny shadow dancers soft and slow,
Flit silently cross crevices and rifts.
My days seem as translucent as the mist,
Of life's breath crystallizing in the sun:
The diaphanous wraith, by Jack Frost kissed,
Becomes a ghostly veil to jump and run.
My own luminous shadow skips and sways,
An eerie evanescent dance of days.

Mick McKellar
October 2013

As day 960 since my transplant drew to a close, I was thinking about how swiftly and delicately the days fly by. The image of warm breath misting in early winter morning sunshine jumped into my mind.

Mick