Sunday, November 17, 2013


We sit, we listen, we know
the afternoon sun is fading
irreversibly into night, the warmth
of the day is fading inevitably
into coldness of night, the walls
of stone and stained glass offering
some light, some warmth. We move
closer, huddling, feeling the chill,
remembering spring's explosion
into color and summer’s hot sands
and brilliant glare and even
the beautiful decay of fall 
with its slanted, withdrawing light.
Outside, a bird is singing.

Photograph by Larisa Koshkina via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.


Jerry said...

ahhhh. I felt that. Excellent Glynn.

Anonymous said...

and soup season

the crows
wind surfing

electric lights
strung up
like a bunch of
cattle rustlers in texas

diana said...

love, love, LOVE this one, Glynn. Thank you. (also love Nance's up above, particularly the last simile. :>)