Beyond the sultry gate, evening picks
its way through warm rambling shadows. It
wears no shirt and knows no sun block is
required by the woods’ illusion
of permanence. The dulcet muffled
modulations of this now listen.
Dim orange light guards cautious steps over
rotting fallen logs and wiry swirls
of thorn brambles. Leaf-filled stump holes have
set small trickster pranks. Just beyond the
moments’ failing gray, a pair of Hawk
chicks bickers and shoves. The adults watch
the half-grown young tuck heads down into
the nest and fold wings across their backs.
No bicker or shove can arrest the turn of night in summer’s heat. Best settle in. – mh clay