Night Hike at Moonrise

When I agreed to help chaperone fifty flailing sixth graders
on a boat trip to an isolated little island in the Chesapeake,
I knew I would get very little peace and plenty of bug bites.
And during the day, kids screamed at aquamarine crabs crawling
across the boat floor, whined incessantly about getting muddy
(before sliding in headfirst), and chattered along
flailing and squawking like the very seagulls they were chasing.
And when it got dark, our guide announced the day’s final event: a night hike
through the bamboo and mystery of the tall grasses for a surprise at the beach.

Pushing through phragmites and feelings of uncertainty
relying on night vision seldom required to navigate an illuminated city life,
we emerged at the sandy shoreline and the open sky.
We sat there taking in the night air, quietly inflecting
fingers digging into the beach
melting in
becoming just another speck of sand
under the stars shooting through the evening sky
feeling the tide’s pull
connected to the luring shhh of the bay waves
quieting the internal electric buzz
from years of passing cars and fluorescent lighting.
From the calm, a tiny orange glow emerged on the horizon line
luridly morphing into a shiny copper penny
rising from the Chesapeake
defying gravity rising
up into the night illuminating
for fifty quiet sixth graders, four chaperones, and one guide
the beauty of the cosmos.
-2007