Dusk as soul-salve carols of starshine, carols amid the hushing hues. From vivid day of sun's flambeaux feathered-light, comes the silver-screen world of tomorrow's yesterday. To moonlight dusk calls, with starlight dusk sings, of the sights we see when all else dims.

September 2026

​

Dusk dilly-dallies as Summer strengthens; days warming amid bonniest birdsong . A flute-song aroma plays out the day-shine, as encore and exit applause. As once sharp memories the world filters-soft, the evening filling with gentle dream-wanderlust.

September 2026

 

The dusk comes as a promise of starlight, of those brilliant pearls of the nighttime that sit as if cushioned upon pure black velvet.

April 4, 2020.

 

Dusk comes to bring us moonlight, to the time of reflection upon the day passed and awaiting day to be renewed by the light of the sun. It is when the birds sing goodnight until the stars bid them to dream under-wing. Each hue deepens in noble solemnity, finding unity in the night.

March 15, 2018.

 

Tara, finding momentary peace in a trance, watched the rain-drops on the window, allowing the sound to massage her mind. Time passed, enough to steal the last fragments of the daytime and welcome the night.

February 28, 2018.
 

Light fell, failed, withered to a mean and muted gloam. Each hue was robbed to destitution. Each hue was drained to a poverty of grey. Each hue was scheduled for suffocation at the hand of a coal-night, at the hand of coal-cloud, at the hand of a city that would not tolerate the inconvenience of famished faces. Rage. Rage. Empathy is dead. Resuscitation breaks ribs. Pen its epitaph. Of breath, there is none. Of heartbeat, there is absence. Safer, it is safer in the dark oh hungry one, in Shadow’s blackest hug, with the knights of night.

September 1, 2025.

 

The narrow vein of blue, between ragged cloud edges, blackened as the light drained. Bloodless faces, gaunt, pallid, stared, eyes orbs of strangled insurrection. The landscape, earlier green and bonny, wrinkled as if smothered in satin black, as if beneath her funeral shroud. Soul-light, song-light, aromatic-light were the only compasses left to the open palm, to the sensitive skin. Only in the darkest of days is love a bold rebellious act. So sense your inner light, sense music’s beat, sense the flora, feel merry and bright, cradle your own pilot light and navigate that ragged and closing gap to the stars beyond.

September 1, 2025.

 

Even in the velvet dark there is the light of the stars, perhaps a promise that even when we yearn for the light of the sun there will be those stars to bring hope of the dawn. It is always the light we crave, for without it what is our world? Would we become creatures of the night, forever to scuttle and hide from predators imagined or real? Either way we seek the light, the chance to stand up and be strong, to see beauty and be beautiful. For the ability to see others and ourselves, to see nature and her stunning variation is a great gift to each and every one.

July 30, 2019.