Chill

A day runs down again and there's night, and there's Orion on his way to places where he has some other name. I've forgotten the sun already and let myself be absorbed by the dark sky and its stars. The waning moon has not yet risen above the pines. The scent of the recent rain lingers in damp earth and moldering leaves and fresh grass. The Sunday traffic has all but vanished, everyone gone into houses where dim light makes curtains glow. I stay outside for a while, listening for frogs, but none are croaking tonight. The birds have long since gone to their nests, some in bushes from which, now and then, I hear a brief flutter of wings and rustling of leaves. The sound of a single passing car slowly vanishes down the long road, and then Orion and I are left in silence.


( Sunday Verse )