The spring oaks fill in. They loom over his Pennsylvania Stone Farmhouse and block his view of the moon. He is the last of three siblings who farmed the surrounding fields.
The season turns over, but does not replenish him.
A squirrel slowly climbs down a tree trunk. Deer rustle in the undergrowth. The dead leaves, pushed out by fresh buds, flutter down. For a little while longer, this early spring, he will continue to enjoy the glow of his neighbor's light.
He sees the full moon through the trees. Brother Harvey suggested we could start plowing early. Sister Mary offered to harness the horses in the morning.
creaking boards
moonglow leads
my gentle footsteps