Summer Evenings: A Poem

Sweet is my memory

That I am not a morning person–

Glorying in the dawn, the revelatory nutty scent of brewing coffee–

No. I prefer dusk.

Evenings, the onset of dew

The fade of heat into something more gentle

The smell of dry grass, ready to seed, giving way to rose petal, wet earth.

For a few years I thought I was a morning person

The light startled me awake and like a fawn, uncertain, I awoke.

But now the sun sets at 9:23 and I revel in it, cradling every last moment of pink and purple glory.

Now the sun sets at 9:23 and I wait for it, the blue-green shade, the mountains to match the hills to match the sky.

Now I sit in the dark alone with my breath

The wind

The sky.

I abandon the pressures of dawn

For the soliloquy of night.