Monday, November 3, 2014

Ode to the Early Dark

It rolls across the land; a tide exhaled
Of soulful blue, hue feeds on deeper hue
Until the fond familiar is veiled

Where folk-at-home windows, pale and wide-eyed
Stare to a world of supper-hour dark
A bivouac of muffled countryside

The scuttle of a brittle leaf is stirred
And chased across the street by phantom feet
Somewhere the barking of a dog is heard

As hooded strangers brace against the chill
With zippers zipped and buttons buttoned tight
Hastening to home’s peace-on-earth good-will

Where day is done before our chores, it seems
And images of easy chairs and books
Become the heroes of our twilight dreams

The heaven shakes its timbrel, spilling stars
Like sparkling eighth-notes gone wildly awry
Deflected from the freeway lined with cars

…and all along the corridor of trees
Bereft of vesper-song the dark reclines
And drips from limbs pining for giggling leaves

The bantering of breezes drops; how still
And smooth the hour slips from day to night
Tucking from sight the near and friendly hill

Now autumn has begun its swan-song trek
Toward that quiet place of white on white
We watch her walking backwards, a mere speck

Yet valiant, she musters a gallant fight
…before his huff and puff snuffs her from sight

© Janet Martin

Until last night I would watch the evening climb the hill out back
now it is dark at suppertime; the window clothed in black

I guess I'll crank up some music while I do supper-dishes 'cause there's nothing to stare at in the window! yikes;-(

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