at Dusk

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At a quarter till four the light is already golden –

promising the swift fall of darkness.

I had forgotten this was coming,

having been wooed by bouquets of amber, ruby & emerald –

After standing agape at glittering facets floating downward,

making way for azure sky.

The short-lived glory of Fall has begun to give way to gray

and brown

and dusk. 

 

I can feel the weight gathering in my spirit,

a panic rising in my chest.

I close my eyes,

inviting the wavering light to kiss my face.

Stay a little longer

 

But the sun retreats a little more each day,

causing the leaves to let go,

lulling nature to sleep beneath a blanket of snow.

I seek out light & warmth like a fragile shoot,

fearing that something inside me too, may shrivel

as the days grow short.

I can feel it in my bones.

Winter is coming.

 

I cope by telling myself there is beauty

in death & resurrection,

in the frozen upturned fields,

in the quiet, cold nights.

All the while, dreaming of eternal summer.

 

I spend hours by the fire,

staring into ember earthquakes

as the deep warmth of wine fills my belly.

Hibernating under drifts of white down,

I hold out through the dusk, through the night.

I will return with the light.

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