Child of the moon,
when the world settles down, you start up.
When the sun sets, you stir.
When the world is set in shadows,
You run to leave yours behind.
You sweep through the trees
Leaving the warmth of day,
the known world, in your wake.
You are at home with the darkness.
I took these on Thanksgiving
My cousins and I ran through the trees,
all wild children under the sun.