EARTH DAY, 2010. 
As we look out over the valley here in Asheville this morning, we see a thousand shades of green and pink that dazzle the landscape.
By the light of the moon tonight we will gaze at the heavens, feel blessed, and plant our seeds.
And so our hearts are full. Here's to Life on Earth !
An expression of gratitude is in order --
With this in mind, I began what turned out to be quite a lengthy tribute--a tale of prospering written in free verse and dedicated to Earth Mother, to all mothers on Earth and to the children...
...To harvesting joy-filled possibility ....
This is a desire for all the best for Planet Earth and for all her creatures, from the tiniest seeds that grow to crops that feed us to the grandest mountains and the streams that flow....
You will find it just below.....
Gemini Harvest
We plant, weather permitting, with the light or the dark of the moon,
just as we spray, fertilize, compost, dry,
water, mow, prune
with and against her rise or decline,
sometimes guided by Ed Hume,
but always, always with Selene in mind.
"What would we do if the moon were to escape?"
You joke. For this artist and his wife, madly toiling in increasing
or decreasing light, know that going moonless would forsake
the best wisdoms of ancient Mesopotamia.
"You would be obliged to paint a glowing orb," I reply,
"... not silvery this time,
but strong and clear in tone, and in an ever-darkening sky."
We laugh at that as April's Wildcat Moon waxes
and you and I, noses close above the sketch on our kitchen table,
merrily plan our wee plot of ground,
the gardens of our second year, to cultivate, if we area able.
It is a lofty goal, considering this summer's other enterprise,
but worthy just the same, my dear,
for life shall run outside our cottage door
down along the path to the white picket fence
(you built for me, and I adore,)
and, some time in May,
climbing roses, tickled pink, and forget-me-nots
will speak of mothers everywhere, of bride's bouquets,
of tying knots. But first-
by second, third, and fourth quarter-moons,
we must await the iris, the tulip, the daffodil bulb-blooms.
We shall tend our rhododendrons in the meantime,
the neighboring shrubs we'll groom.
Seeds? We will warm them in our hands-
the parsley, the basil-wish them well,
and deposit them, soundly,
in Grandpa's wonderful weathered-wood whiskey barrel.
And, this year, we shall try something new.
We shall situate the onions, zucchini, and potatoes,
blessings for the "good-earth-stew,"
in bales of straw, split open, just-so.
And there's something else, my darling,
that we sowed even after last year's harvest,
when, inspired by it all,
and to guarantee the moon would always stay in our little piece of heaven,
jus as I had suggested,
you painted Luna on your huge, hand-stretched and handsome canvas,
and hung it on the wall
of our inner sanctum-
that Sassafras Moon,
surging electric green like an egg of pure potential,
sprang aloft in an indigo sky, her chartreuse
tendrils reaching down to do magic-
and we laughed again,
as we lay, you and I,
close and fulfilled
on the plaid of your clan,
admiring that canvas,
that cosmic collision of color and whim
-and, especially- admiring each other.
Yes, it was late October then.
Now fast approaches the harvest
of that day, as the months seem to trim
to the time of the birth
of our Gemini twins!
~^~
©jA Narrin, Wind-in-the-Feather
The Spirit Ridge Collection
Asheville, 2010
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