Fragments From Floyd

Cloudless and calm, the southern sky above the pasture has just grown lighter than the wooded ridges along the two rims of our valley, rising edges of the cupped hands that hold our lives. Far away, hollow and without direction, an owl says good night as his day ends, and mine begins. I stand attentive, with coffee.

There is contrast now between the fringe of oaks and the blue black space beyond, there, a five minute walk from the front porch to the top of the eastern skyline. And suddenly, a prick of purest light--Venus visible suddenly above our local horizon. It climbs the trees on a slight diagonal, full radiant between trunks, disappearing behind branches, partially, completely, reappearing, higher and higher, winking faintly as it passes behind the smallest bare twigs.

It reaches the top and open blue space, and is free. Venus, the bright and morning star, a climber of trees.