They say that darkness falls all a’ sudden
like a blackout curtain dropped across the stage
separating us from the light.
But that’s not so.
We turn towards darkness, gradually, gently,
until figures become indiscernible, one from the other.
As the spring peepers sing, nightshapes blend and bleed, stretching towards each other, like the naked branches of the magnolia tree reaching for the sweet gum to comfort and console; to reassure I am here. I’ll see you on the morrow.
And in the morning, those very same branches will draw back the curtain of night to turn us back toward day. We will stop to admire the jeweled leaves adorning their knuckles and realize that suddenly it is spring.