Night Begins to Fall Down
This sadness, your eyes, the lonely moon that rises sombrely over the hill
Dreaming kaleidoscope of milk-white clouds and an alighting drift of speckled butterflies taking flight through the midsummer sky—this sadness, your eyes, the lonely moon that rises sombrely over the hill. Somewhere along the hours I lose sight of you. I search for you in the last light as day slips down into dusk, but cannot find the edges of your body. Turning homeward in solitude I am a slow-moving figure cast beneath clouds deepening to lilac.
Returning to the house a small, slightly dog-eared book lays open on the table: quiet, pocket-size pages bound by a plain black cover, absent of title, and much faded by the years. I take it up into my hands and notice a shaft of pale evening light falling sideways through the bay window at the far end of the room; it’s glass-pane painted with the peaceful scene of the patchwork valley fading beneath the open skies of June. I move towards the window and press my forehead against the cool glass, before settling my dreaming body down into the recess of the window-seat, happy to rest somewhere between the vastness of the landscape and the cosseted sanctuary of the home. Here I embark upon the careful task of reading the time-worn book whilst the long-awaited night begins to fall down around the little house sitting amongst the hills.
I start from the end of the book and seek to work backwards, trying to recall how we arrived here, or where I might have lost you along the way—but there are no clear answers within the pages. Only the deep, intrinsic and desirous wounds of fate mark the paper, echoed by a long string of impossible dreams that are destined to race into twilight obscurity.
Very beautiful, l love it.