The air has that feel of mid-summer,
where something intangible means it just smells warm;
the wind that whisked away our breaths earlier,
and drew us to pull blankets closer in, put on hats, nestle in our human bubbles,
has settled for the night;
and the civil twilight brings a new heat,
sweet on the flower-scented air,
olfactory scene set on the last shades of pink and orange that still ink the sky.
I am here for the last of the light, as I often am,
but I am also waiting for another;
the street lanterns bring their warm glow, but,
the tall great reds still hide her,
she’s r i s i n g, but slower than last night.
In perfect opposition to the remaining rays,
she glides gently.
The geese gather for the night,
whilst the bats swoop out, silhouetted night-swifts,
prowling water line for insect-kind.
Venus brightly shining twice, once in the east and once in the liquid-still mirror
but we are waiting for her night companion to arrive.
Then all at once sublime, creamy light floods the water surface
as she crests the tree-line
It is time.
We strip to milky moon shine skin, shiver with excitement
And squawk and squeal,
as we coax and ready ourselves to
So many head out for their outdoor solace under the sun’s rays
warming life-parched skins in air fresh with everything green, and day
But I find such solace in the sunset
and the moonrise
I can bask in the sun from my window or
the luck of a south-facing garden
But I never see the sun leave us
unless I go seek, and watch her go
And the way the light changes…
And those heady nocturnal scents…
Sun set. A different time to different people
I’ve often out-stayed a keen photographer
or late eve walker to watch her go
and see the throes of pink and orange GLOW
a whole new life all over again, dancing across water, reflected in windows, held in the willows
Before letting the wandering stars and moon guide us for another night
by Dot Tiwari