And now…

(cue the Monty Python music) for something completely different.  Thought I’d throw one of these out there.  It’s an older effort, penned after riding home on the school bus from a tennis match.  While the players were doing their teenage thing, the coach was staring out the bus window.  I love the night sky.

Late Evening Bus Ride

Along the horizon

a line of gold

stretched beyond the imagination

 

An indigo hue

floated above

broken by bits of the heavens

 

A bright crescent

keen against the azure

offers the hope of other luminaries

 

Chill autumn air

magnifies the celestial entities

making them real

 

If I could…

If I try…

My fingers might graze a star.

 

©Beth Anderson

 

About thequarryschild

A self-described forensic junkie, Beth Anderson spends her days shaping young minds to ask critical questions and wonder “whodunit.” Beth resides in the Capital District of New York and spends her free time reading and solving the great mysteries. Her love of swimming, tennis and sports provides the basis for one of the lead characters in her new book The Quarry’s Child. Beth is one of the founding members of the Upper Hudson Valley Chapter of Sisters in Crime (aka Mavens of Mayhem), a graduate of the FBI Citizens Academy, a survivor of a visit to an active aircraft carrier while it was at sea, and a published poet in Soundings, a literary journal. Beth continues to instill a love for mystery fiction in her students as she has for over twenty years. Photo credit: Quinn Mulvey
This entry was posted in autumn, nature, poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s