The changing color of moon moods.
Rising up in orange, between branches, like a stained glass window.
Changing to white, as if it were a search light.
Once above the trees, it hops playfully, from place to place.
Even pretending to be a Moon light.
So was my isolated adventure of the night.
Restricted to the boundaries of my Portuguese village.
I was able to escape the boundaries,
by being able to share this experience with Tonii Kelly
Of a village in which I lived, in Ireland.
As we pondered ever changing color of the Moon at night.
Connected but isolated.
I in the end, nothing more than a shadow of myself.