“Sunset”, Jane Kohut-Bartels, watercolor, 2008
The Dark Leans In
The dark leans in, cool and necessary.
The wind lessens, quiets the
hambone frenzy of wind chimes.
They ceased their cacophony,
Letting birds this night
test their dusk-calls,
unsure of voices muted
by the silence of season past.
Off in the distance a lone train whistle
perhaps the last train home
Before night blackens the earth.
It will need a fat moon to brighten its tracks….
How silent the night!
Now given to owls,
Piteous cries of mourning doves
And the rustle of something
In the tall weeds,
But probably not.
The night is the territory of creatures
With night vision and silent flights,
Of owls with upturned wings,
Silent, silent, deadly drones
Red eyes like burning coals
And talons like razors.
A banshee scream of hunter
And the resounding cry of prey.
No man walks about the dark,
No one would without fear
Knowing what is given by nature is not
On par with the lowliness creature of this dark.
Only the slight babble of the brook,
The brook that fears no rocks
Or fallen limbs or anything except drought
Makes the push to daylight where we
Are sure of our place,
Our courage renewed.
The night belongs to other species
As the dark leans in, cool and necessary
The wind picks up, rattles leaves beneath feet
And we turn our steps towards a world
Of less mystery.