One night last week it seemed like the very ground was charged with cricket-song...this week dusk steals in on much-too-early feet and the cricket-choir has thinned to a sporadic 'chirp'...
It is dusk; the noise of life muffled beneath a quilt
Of crickets in the thicket where another summer spilt
The green tree etched on azure noon is raven, solemn-stark
We gather behind windows lit like beacons to the dark
It is dusk; mulled musky 'musts' feather the fraying field
Its dust harbors a postlude where September wills its yield
Its dust harbors a postlude where September wills its yield
The froth of full-leaf lullaby is amplified, it seems
By the impending solitude of stricken wood requiems
It is dusk; the brusque breeze lolls where daylight duties
stop
We rearrange to-do lists like a merchant closing shop
Where twilight’s tent is softly rent with burnished pink and
gold
As pastures disappear into night’s vast, black velvet hold
It is dusk; the four corners of east, west, north and south
Dissolve into blue nothingness like candy in time’s mouth
Our sense of touch is charged by the relinquishing of sight
As dusk surrenders to the tender troubadour of night
© Janet Martin
"Observe", said Da Vinci, "observe at twilight, when the day is cloudy the loveliness and tenderness spread on the faces of men and women"
p.s. It feels good to be sitting in an upright position after a day in bed! there is a nasty flu-bug making its rounds...
... to-do lists were abruptly 'rearranged'!
