The day renders green thru the wind and furnishings of the moon. The moon was shadowed tonight, well known, frosted, and passed. The night is our beginning. In effects of season and instrument, we have pulled tiny things from large and vaulting. This is creative, like the shadow capturing the moon’s garden. Now the wind, a doorway of sorts, continues. Testaments and words continue, fitted to stations, and the river rattles on. We love the river. It fends for the landscape and twists thru the orchard. The orchard holds our apples, bright and uncontested. Each apple is a sun, uncontested. We love the river, traveling on.