1389. Oh, the summer night, has a smile of light, and she sits on a sapphire throne. ~Bryan Procter

This was the way the whole world once measured time
This is when the light would wholly return to warm the earth
This is where the past would become undone
and the spinning earth would mark a new beginning
Let’s go back in time, to when it all began
To the breaking of bright new dawns
Where after winter’s grasp let go
moments bright with fire, enlivened the sun’s pyre
Oh, radiant sun, stretch the day, shorten night
Return earth’s attenuated darkness into fullness of light
~Edited and adapted lines from a poem
by Carrie Richards

“As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease.” ~Genesis 8:22  ✝

1365. When purple colored curtains mark the end of day, and heavenly shades of night are falling, it’s twilight time. ~Excerpted lines from a song written by Buck Ram, Morty Nevins, and Al Nevins

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Shadows creep stealthily across the lawn
Whilst night, unruffled, defies the dawn,
And the moon released from day’s embrace,
Smiling wakes up and shows his face
To this mystic world of the twilight hours.
~Excerpted lines from a poem
by 
Ernestine Northover

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“Aaron must burn fragrant incense on the altar every morning when he tends the lamps. He must burn incense again when he lights the lamps at twilight so incense will burn regularly before the Lord for the generations to come…” ~Exodus 30:7-8  ✝

**Clematis photos taken by Natalie

***Image of poem by Mary Schofield found on the Internet

1340. What part of you is dying, in order to just survive? It is this very part you must ignite to really come alive. ~Julie Parker

Go to the limits of your longing.
God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

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These are the words we dimly hear:
You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.

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Embody me.
Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

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Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don’t let yourself lose me.

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Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.
Give me your hand…

~Ranier Maria Rilke

All my longings lie open before you, Lord; my sighing is not hidden from you. ~Psalm 38:9 ✝

**Images found on Pinterest

1301. The night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand. ~Frederic Lawrence Knowles

The moon is at her full, and riding high,
floods the calm fields with light.
~William C. Bryant

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The moon–what is it about the moon that fascinates mortals like me? It seems that mankind and perhaps creatures alike have always been captivated by the moon. Otherwise we wouldn’t be able to find image after image and tale after tale about the orb in humanity’s art, music, and literature. For example in 500 BC Homer wrote in the Hymn to Selene, “there she shines, a symbol, a sign for humanity.” And it’s not just the recent “supermoon” but all the moon’s phases that have and continue to excite as well as stir the imagination. Over the centuries, the moon has been given many names, and it appears in countless myths and legends from every corner of the globe. Interestingly, though mankind has often talked about the man in the moon, many of the names given to the moon indicate that it was thought by many to have been a feminine entity/deity. It has also been said that perhaps the sun, the moon, and the stars “exist that we might know how high our dreams can soar.” And in a way I think that may be true as it does keep our eyes pointed upward where we gain a sense of the grander scale of things and away from the temporary and limited realm of worldly things. Man may have set foot upon the moon’s “fabled surface,” but for me its fascination as a thing of mystery and mysticism hasn’t diminished a single iota. I still can’t sit under it at night and gaze heavenward without gaining a perception of tangible sanctity. The light that emanates from the moon seems to me to be not unlike the “holy light” that comes from human hearts in random acts of kindness and/or sacrifice.

And God said, “Let there be lights in the vault of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark sacred times, and days and years, and let them be lights in the vault of the sky to give light on the earth.” And it was so. ~Genesis 1:14-15  ✝

**All images taken by media outlets in the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex area. Notice in the upper right hand of the collage, the plane that had departed from DFW airport crossing the supermoon.

1259. Ipomoea alba, a white blooming, fragile moon destined only to bloom for a single, lovely night. ~Natalie

In whispered song of shadowed pearl,
her lumened face now opened
for night’s cool embrace.
~Edited excerpt
from a poem, by David Mohn

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From out of twining, emerald leaves
what was at first a tight, small
small bud of green, emerges
a twisted spiral of white and green.

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Then wider and wider it
spreads until like a lady’s
handkerchief it opens.

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As the stars pop out one by one
in the heavens above the satiny,
fragrant, night-blooming
morning glory begins its reign
as sovereign monarch throughout
the entirely of night’s realm.

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Round like the moon, it mimics 
 the orb in the utter splendor 
of its fullness before it begins
to crumple in the day’s first light,

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But that it might be
cool enough to embolden it
to linger a little longer.

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The sun has one kind of splendor, the moon another and the stars another; and star differs from star in splendor. ~1 Corinthians 15:41  ✝

**In the last photograph you are looking at a moonflower fully opened after first light because it was cool enough that morning when I took the picture. And I’m looking at it from the back so that you can see one of the small green buds behind it that it was before it began to untwist and open.

1257. Things have their time, even eminence bows to timeliness. ~Baltasar Gracián

Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance.
Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence.
Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance
~Yoko Ono

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A shower, a late afternoon downpour sends little rivers flowing along the curbs;
A silence, a quiet hush falls after the rain;
A day, a passage of time almost spent dwindles peacefully as the sun lowers;
A hummingbird, a flying wonder comes to the feeder for its last sip of the day;
A cat, a feral wanderer arrives at the door looking for a final serving of food;
A plane, a distant sliver of a silver bird glides silently overhead,
And like all else as darkness draws nigh it appears to be moving in slow motion.
Then in the soon to be snuffed out light a bird perches up high in the bamboo
Calling loudly to its nightly bedfellows as it does every day about this time;
It’s as if it’s imploring stragglers to come home before darkness falls, and I wonder
If it could be that these birds who gather at dusk do so to talk of their day’s forays.
Or is it that they are raising their voices in nightly thanksgiving for the day?
Or maybe it’s just a benediction for safe passage through the long night that lies ahead.
Or perhaps they’re praying the sun will rise again to rekindle dawn’s flames.
Whatever it is or isn’t, onlookers of such occurrences find rhythm in such.
Nighttime follows the day and the morrow’s daytime will follow another night;
Both of them chasing round and round our sphere in an endless pursuit of purpose
As the seasons move across our fields and their remembrances grace our mortal lives.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens… ~Ecclesiastes 3:1  ✝

**Image found on Pinterest

1251. We strain to renew our capacity to wonder, to shock ourselves into astonishment once again. ~Shana Alexander

What
if you were
a beetle,
and a soft wind

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and a certain allowance of time
had summoned you
out of your wrappings,
and there you were,

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so many legs
hardening,
maybe even
more than one pair of eyes

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and the whole world
in front of you?
And what if you had wings
and flew

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into the garden,
then fell
into the up-tipped
face

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of a white flower,
and what if you had
a sort of mouth,
a lip

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to place close
to the skim
of honey
that kept offering itself –

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what would you think then
of the world
as, night and day,
you were kept there –

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oh happy prisoner –
sighing, humming,
roaming
that deep cup?
~How Everything Adores Being Alive,
by Mary Oliver

For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. ~Isaiah 40:29  ✝

**Photos 1, 4, 6, 7, 8 by Mandy Disher; images 2, 3, 5 via Pinterest