October twilight

when you must get up early
to put the trash to the curb
because you forgot to do it
the evening before—and—yawn—
it’s still dark, but the sun is hinting
at its existence, low on the horizon
and there’s a fresh chill in the air
with Sirius & Orion hunting Mars
by the light of a hunter’s moon—
suddenly it’s no longer a chore
but glorious beautiful happiness

—Terri Guillemets

Venus falling

I saw something very strange last night when I got out of bed to use the bathroom. Out the east window I saw a bright white light in the sky. Not knowing what time it was, at first I assumed it was Venus. But it wasn’t dawn yet. And then suddenly I noticed that it was slowly moving straight downward. It disappeared out of view behind my neighbor’s house. I looked at the clock, and it was 12:26 AM. I still have no idea what it was — it seemed too slow and straight and steady to be a meteor, but I don’t know what else it could’ve been that would’ve been moving in a linear downward motion. We are still in the tau Herculids date range, so I suppose that’s a possibility. I’ve never seen anything like it. Checked the local news for the day but didn’t see anything. Guess I’ll just never know.

Tau Herculids shooting stars

I saw 6 meteors last night during the tau Herculids meteor shower, from my backyard. I wasn’t expecting to see any, given how light our night sky is here in Phoenix! The first one I saw at 8:45 pm MST, just while going out briefly to check the location of the constellations. Then an hour later I laid on the ground and saw 5 more from 9:45 to 10:15 pm. Nothing after that, so I came back in at 10:30 and went to bed. It was a wonderful night!

Night haze

The moon shines
into the dirty desert air
with a rusty opal halo —

Scorpius has lost his way
behind the thin clouds,
city glare, smoke, dust —

His heart shines in some far
better place — but not here
in this smoggy summer.

—Terri Guillemets

Enclosed

Our bodies are meant
for the sun, the rain
the gusty winds
starlight and moon baths
fresh air and seasons —
so why do we trap ourselves
      in indoor cages?

If we can’t hear birds sing
or feel invigorating breezes —
how are we to be refreshed
to heal, to know the world
beyond the borders
      of our bodies?

—Terri Guillemets

Galactic gathering

Standing in a silent still-dark February morning
Cool dewy grass grazes half-bare sandaled feet
Lo! Saturn arrives as Jupiter saddles Sagittarius
Mars burns red near the glowing crescent moon
Serpens slithers against a vaporous galaxy border
Antares winks green and gold, crimson and rust
As Scorpius swings its tail at the southern horizon
Libra starboard and upward of the crowded scene
Balancing askew over the poor impaled lone wolf
Ophiuchus a bystander in the busy celestial show

—Terri Guillemets

Transforming

I translate stars into daydreams
I make rain and rainbows into
      freshly squeezed joy
I breathe the air of possibility
I swim deep in rivers of passion
I use my loneliness as
      stepping stones to love
I am on the march to freedom
I tend to my blossoming soul

—Terri Guillemets

Raindrop days, lightning moments

We all have those moments in our lives that transform us — something small or big happens and we’re never the same.

Sometimes we remember these moments in our personal histories as leaps, or falls — or just serendipitous wanderings — from one life segment to the next.

Or we mark them like stars on a map of self — constellations of life-changing moments. Some seem crazy small and wouldn’t even register as stars in others’ systems. But in our own they blaze bright.

Or maybe our days are raindrops and our lives rolling clouds and these moments are lightning strikes. Raindrop days, lightning-strike moments.

These maps and moments imprint our souls, our minds, our memorious hearts. Our stories of self are made from them.

—Terri Guillemets