Walking at dusk,
When mist rolls down from darkening hills.
Walking at dusk,
Stirring scents of dog wood musk,
Leaf-damp shadow the hollows fills—
I listen as a bird still trills,
Walking at dusk.
Walking at dusk
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Walking at dusk,
When mist rolls down from darkening hills.
Walking at dusk,
Stirring scents of dog wood musk,
Leaf-damp shadow the hollows fills—
I listen as a bird still trills,
Walking at dusk.
Mad woman from mediocrity, muses.
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I love walking Ruby at Dusk 💜
Finbar seems to forget all his fears about wandering too far from home once it starts to get dark. We can walk for miles, sniffing and tracking…
Yes they love it don’t they 💜💜
It’s as though the night world doesn’t belong to human beings at all.
I think you may be right there it belongs to the fairy folk .
And that probably includes night animals 🙂
Nocturnals indeed 💜💜
🙂
Lovely walking with you, Jane!
For real would be good 🙂
It would! 🙂
🙂
Gorgeous photograph fitting of the evocative poem!
Thanks Claire 🙂 The photo was actually of a misty morning, but the light is similar.
There is a calmness and stillness about dusk reflected in your poem, Jane.
Thank you, Kelvin. I like the feeling of transition, like shifts changing 🙂
Reblogged this on Die Erste Eslarner Zeitung – Aus und über Eslarn, sowie die bayerisch-tschechische Region!.
Cheers!
Seems you have special birds there. When its getting darker our birds do not trill anymore. 😉 In Germany they have a scheduled workflow. LOL Michael
The nightingales sing all night AND all day. It’s called nachtigall in German (I looked it up).