I take the liberty of reprinting a lovely poem from Ted Kooser, fresh this morning:
Full Moon, March 2020
The moon was in self-isolation, too,
and wearing a white mask as it passed us
in an aisle of the night, keeping a distance
not acknowledging us. It was pushing
a cart heaped up with stars, far more stars
than any moon could ever need, the cart
sparkling, a few little stars falling out,
left behind as the moon rolled past,
on its way toward eternity’s checkout.
Thank you, Ted Kooser, for another beautiful slice of life. Be well, dear readers, and pick up a star or two on your way toward eternity’s checkout to share with others—we are all in need these days.