Blue Moon

In two thousand and nine, the year ended with a blue moon,
and as that second moon of the month rose it spun enchantment as its mood,
for a partial eclipse of the blue moon was seen in the light of the dawn too,
which in Anchorage, at that time of year, is more than halfway to noon.

We enjoyed the finest art show in town while our breakfast we ate,
for VRae’s art filled the walls of the Middle Way Café,
and I could hardly believe that I was munching the best huevos rancheros
at the furthest state north of the U.S. border with old Mexico.

The New Year’s Eve held old cherished friendships and new wonders as well,
flame throwers, volcanoes, block ice carvers and crystal-clear ice sea turtles,
and the townspeople of Anchorage in the outdoor air, fifteen degrees cool,
watched spellbound as the fireworks cascaded in front of the blue moon.

If an evening this special is only known to come true,
according to legend, only once in a blue moon,
then surely the sky is the limit to what such a thrilled girl would be willing to do
to coax that blue moon into shining more often and to not leave so soon.