In the dusk of the year

 

In the dusk of the year

we stand wreathed in flying leaves

and restless skies watching

the dark half of the year turn closer

remembering the cold that bites

beneath snow-filled cloud

and our dreams full of fire.

 

In the twilight of all things that matter

we lie down on scorched grass

and watch the storm clouds gather.

No rainbows will follow this deluge

no ark no saving graces.

No dawn will follow this night

of no moon and no stars.

 

Night falls

and falls

 

and

 

 

falls

 

 

~fin~

 

 

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

15 thoughts on “In the dusk of the year”

      1. Your take is realistic. (I first typed rake for take, which must me psychosomatic.) Fall is a season of beauty and loss. The beauty doesn’t outweigh the loss. But I guess I’m drawn to the bifurcation, maybe paradox. Spring is second favorite.

      2. That probably shows you have a less conservative nature than I have, ready to embrace change. However, I think if winter wasn’t so cold, I’d be more indulgent with it .

    1. You saw right. That was my intention. The reports are coming in thick and fast. Nobody can pretend they don’t know, don’t believe, haven’t heard, can’t understand etc etc. It’s real and it isn’t going to go away.

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