Digigran

Slow Moving Moon
By Marea Rose Jenness
It started out a slit of light.

Stubbornly, it grew to a crescent.

In this January-February sky,

While I wait to see you for the first time,

Its progress seems painfully slow.

Three-quarters now, it will be full in three nights.

Then in reverse, it will shrink to a crescent before I travel.

Eleven long nights.

I have no power to speed the earth's shadow as it moves across the moon's face.

I think that I may notice each degree of progress.

© Copyright 2000 Marea Rose Jenness

The following is a counting rhyme which emphasises the infinity into which time draws us on :

How many seconds in a minute?

Sixty, and no more in it.

How many minutes in an hour?

Sixty for sun and shower.

How many hours in a day?

Twenty-four for work and play.

How many days in a week?

Seven both to hear and speak.

How many weeks in a month?

Four, as the swift moon runn'th.

How many months in a year?

Twelve the almanack makes clear.

How many years in an age?

One hundred says the sage.

How many ages in time?

Noone knows the rhyme.

Sing Song by Christina Rossetti, firstreleased in 1872, has stayed popular for over a
century, and some of its verses (like "Who Has Seen the Wind") remain
well-known today.

Sorry I have been of-line so long. It's been a busy end of the month , culminating in my husband's retirement from medicine after 40 odd years in the NHS. More of that next time
As yet No BABY.
As you may guess from the poem and images, I am full of contradictory feelings. I am anxiously awaiting the message that announces the birth of little bean and brings a new digibaby into the world. Time seems to be both to have sped by and stood still.

The first poem reflects the slowness of time for a mother awaiting the day to travel to find her adopted child, the second the enduring nature of time and its slow progress, while the clock signals the time running out and the birth day imminent.
Too scared to phone in case I interrupt anything.
Jumping at any sound from the phone, like an expectant lover, not a gran.
This morning I received the following txt message from a friend:
'Hi baby here. Can you meet children from bus today?.'
Took me a good ten minutes of panic, rushing to find coat , boots, car keys etc, before I realised txt should read: 'Is baby here?' and the children in question are 10 and 14 .
Will let you know exact day of arrival when it happens.

Meanwhile

Maddona

says it all. But in my case the baby in question is really a baby.