Dawn and dusk, stage curtains draped Across revolving earth’s round face; Birds carol dawn but muse at dusk, The land becomes a stranger place From which diurnal life withdraws While moths and badgers find accord, Our world consumed by its own shadow Until dew falls and then tomorrow Grows from light that’s grey and plain, Imperceptibly, it’s day! Noon’s high tide is rarely noted, Shadows then are at their shortest. Midnight’s other self moves on, Shadows turn and also lengthen, Then spread, diffuse, imbue the air, Soften the light until none’s there. It’s in these times, twilight’s hours, Half-light unveils crepuscular power In rising mist, the liminal tricks Peripheral vision, a barn owl flits. To know such things, make time to sit, Or stand, away from man, and wait.
___________________________
P. D. Brown