A collection of thoughts on the barely-waxing moon// An Ode to Shiva

OM.

All of life’s smells met me as I pedaled home.

Twilight smells of coolness and dish-washing, ordinarily.

But tonight, I smelled all the last-suppers, my grandparents’ country club, rose perfume, and a pail of dirty diapers.

And this conglomeration of life somehow spoke to the closeness and intimacy of death.

Namah.

Then a look over my shoulder.

To meet the gaze of a silver sliver.

So sweetly illuminating her hidden parts.

And I am gone for good.

Shivaya.

{Photos by Stephen Rahn, used under a Creative-Commons license.}