When I wrote this little “non-poem”, several years ago, I had been in a campground in central Florida for a couple of months.
It was our first really long stay at one place during the winter in our RV. And we had really learned a lot about “long stay” camping. The most important lesson, I think, was just how to relax and enjoy your surroundings.
The weather was so grand that winter, that at night we opened our side windows by our bed, to allow the night breezes to blow and keep us cool.
The very first night, I noticed that if I turned onto my left side, in bed, the view out my window was of an enormous old Live Oak tree.
The limbs of that majestic, old tree spread in all directions and were covered with long and beautiful strands of Spanish Moss. During the day, they were a beautiful combination.
But at night, directly across the campground was a common yellow street light, and it gave a fantastic backlight to the Spanish Moss hanging on this majestic tree.
Being a light sleeper, I wake up often during the night, and I often amuse myself with writing stories and such in my head.
Often, I am so inspired by my idea that I get up and jot down notes on what I have come up with. Must of my “night notes”don’t survive the light of the day, but occasionally one will, and get turned into something like this story.
Anyway I go into the habit of just staring at this ight and shadow show presented to me by this combination of Tree Limbs, Spanish Moss, and the Night Winds, and I would let my imagination run free and sway with the Moss on the winds.
You see, to me, what I was watching, out that little RV window really did give me the feeling of watching a complex ballet in the air.
The view was often so compelling, and I would become so entranced, that I had to force myself to turn away and go back to sleep. I hope this writing of mine imparts some of that feeling to you, also.
I am lean, and lithe,
as I dance in the sweet summer breeze,
under my full bright Moon.
I sway and catch the night scents,
of a distant Magnolia,
and freshly bloomed Gardenia,
the sweetness of both are overpowered,
by the pungent odors, of a nearby Lilac.
All of them seem to be competing,
for my fickle, yet hungry attention.
Both day and night,
through weather fair and foul,
they haunt me.
A fresh gust of air, from nowhere,
and without volition,
my fellow Graybeards and I,
are caught up in our,
never ending dance of life,
synchronized and silent.
We gather ourselves,
then slowly dance,
first left, then right,
at the mercy of the wind.
Never complaining nor crying,
but instead rejoicing,
in the flavors delivered by the wind.
Our insatiable appetites,
receiving sustenance with each burst
and shift of the fickle air.
I rejoice in the breezes,
as I feed on the air itself.
I am Spanish Moss,
I never tire,
and my hunger never ends.
by DON BOBBITT, Copyright 2009, All Rights Reserved