As It Goes

The sun setting was the color of the flavor of a tangerine more than tangerine, and made the cloud swaths glow, miles on miles. Twiggy, bare oaks bore what seemed a foliage of lavender light which, as the sun vanished, turned gray and then was swept away as by wind. It was as though a fire had consumed the brief glory of the woods. Intricate, then less so, then a dark mass all but free of detail, the arboreal silhouettes surrendered to the night sky—the last full night of the year. Eastward, Orion was already climbing. The clearing sky chilled the air too late to preserve the lost snow. The melt absorbed or run off, the night is silent, and smells strongly of pine. Already I sense the bough tips anxiously stirring toward spring.


Later, there's a surprise: after not appearing again for week or so the gray cat has returned and is sleeping on the back porch. I wonder where he spent the snowy night, and the hours of rain? It's a tough time of year for such independent beasts.


( Sunday Verse )