Black Hole
The bike path, almost bereft of people.
One or two loners, mask enhanced,
walk their dogs with brisk determination.
The smells of spring, fragrant iris, wet dirt,
honeysuckle, blossoming trees, cut grass,
and the sound of birds, blue jays, quail,
Acorn woodpeckers, linger in the air.
Color-washed buds flowered in purple
blaze against wooden fences.
Yellow poppies closed up tight.
Little fists of beauty dance in
the late morning wind storm.
No sunshine to awaken them
from last evening’s repose.
Just cold wind and dark skies
billowing with the promise of rain.
Boys disregarding warning sign,
“Park is Closed Due to COVID-19 Risks”
shoot hoops with fake bravado,
shoot hoops beyond the event horizon.*
Test a black hole, as a wayward star might,
to be torn apart if venturing too close.
All else seems normal this abnormal day.
Stretching into the event horizon
of an unknown virus,
we shudder as a collective
and we wait.
–
Judith Vaughn
Sonoma, April 8 2020
–
*A region of space beyond a black hole.
This is a “point of no return,” beyond which it is impossible to
escape the gravitational effects of a black hole.
Julianna • May 3, 2020 at 7:47 pm
Little fists of beauty – my favorite words. Yes some people are pressing close to the black hole. Thank you for this poem and photo combination reflecting on what these days are bringing.