Gibbons are high society. They bungee through the trees in search of insects, and the missing members of their family.
Chivalry is not dead amongst the evergreens. As the gentlemen sing their arias, notes become duet mid-air, the forming of an interconnected pair.
Two grasping hands cradling sun and moon. Demigods by noon, there's a rhythm, if only in the stream's reflection.
The Gibbon's gaze shrinks mountains, it understands social cues, both auspicious and inauspicious, and as prophesied, the Gibbon is gracious.
Courage means never being captured, defending territory, offspring, without retreat; the Gibbon's no coward.
And while it roams in circles manipulating the planet and stars, cosmic power is way too uncouth. The Gibbon returns to that special someone to live out its life in noble truths.
Thank you, Julie. I really enjoyed watching these creatures, and so at our next pit stop, I scribbled down a rough draft in my journal. I may not be quite as graceful as the gibbons, but I’m working on it.😊
Thanks, EF. I read somewhere that long ago, the ancient tribes believed that the gibbons could cradle the sun and moon in their hands. It was too lovely a sentiment not to include. Cheers to you. 🌙☀️
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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