Late in the evening, long after the sun has kissed us all goodnight
The moon rises, his hue soft and deep, enfolding me with his dusky rays
Bending round the clouds and trees, he shows me.
Creation alive and vibrant, and yet at-rest.
Ceasing from her labors of the day, she rises to her reign at eventide.
The owl in the old tree next door directs the symphony of the night.
His strategic and penetrating wha-wha-who-who-who is heard above the Mockingbird’s insistent chatter.
The crickets join in at the chorus, my eyes twinkle and my ear strains to hear who has the melody in this cacophony of sound.
The owl sings to his mate in another tree as the breeze flutters the ears of the fawn who munches mindlessly in my garden below.
She lifts her head and swishes her tail and, assessing she’s among friends,
dips her head once again to focus on her feast.
My Clematis bush shudders as its blossoms disappear with a munch.