The air is bare this evening


Sitting on a chair outside our bedroom 

looking up at the mountain ridge

There was a time

in the first week of May

when the sun was setting

behind the wooded ridge

the warm air shimmered

with insects in their millions

the sounds of Martins and Swifts

Swallows too feeding in the dimming light

and now the light is bare

and everything, the hours

and the day is still…

so quiet you know it’s not right


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