I sit beneath the opaque sky,
Where sun has found his rest.
Dusk is quickly drawing nigh,
While heart’s pulse slows within my chest.
I hear the crickets slumber,
Tucked gently in their beds of wheat.
Golden rows of cream and umber,
Where shaft and ground do meet.
Not chirp nor bark to pierce the night,
I can hear a dance atop wet blades of grass.
Perhaps a fairy, a graceful jolly garden sprite.
I come to find it’s merely wind, as she glides in shades of gray and brass.
Moon and stars are blanketed by this eve’s cleansing rains,
Clouds sluggishly wander across twilight’s stage,
Floating seamlessly within rivers of indigo haze.
The soil is damp beneath my feet,
Perfumed of birth… and death,
Neither dearth nor fleet,
Simply the invitation of dusk’s aromatic breath.
The breeze, she calls to me once more.
And I realize the wind truly does whisper.
Now she speaks to the surface of my skin,
Which grows cold within her vitalizing embrace.
Her crisp and brazen exhalation
As it gently kisses my cheeks and face.
I begin to quiver in the wake of her enigmatic chill.
She licks the edges of my ears,
I am listening… receptive… still
Where her quiet presence catches in the hollow chambers above lobe and fringes,
Sitting in their entrance, she sways enticingly like lock and key
A secret shutter on rusted hinges.
I am able to both hear and see.
Spiraling inward to gently drum my internal spaces with reverence
Heralding the beat of my deepest understanding.
I surrender to the whimsical teachings of this night’s quietude… the howling silence…
Neither deafening nor pleasing.
Neither indulging nor teasing.
Lessons on letting go,
An endless path of communing
Touching the truth of who