--particularly at night--
requires a singular focus.
Even on a cloudless, moon-filled night,
heavy limbs of oak and conifer
bat away the lunar light,
leaving a mottled forest floor
covered with silver and shadow.
When following a hound's call
through that nighttime woods,
there can be only you, the dog, and the land.
No time for the worries of man or civilization.
Any past wrongs forgotten--even forgiven.
Nothing to laden soul or trek.
Each pace a step closer to heaven.
Sometimes, when a full moon's light sneaks into
an opening through the trees' canopy,
memories rush by
--a silent partner, ever whispering . . .
But never on a quarter moon.