The Golden Hour

 

The sun is lowering toward the horizon,

Rays more horizontal than before,

Changing from bright yellow to soft gold.

 

The leaves tremble in the light, happy to

Warm before the night arrives, a blanket of

Yellow covering the sky.

 

As the sun fades, the trees are black silhouettes

Against the bright blue sky, a contrasting image

To hold onto, for when the clouds return.

 

The deer tiptoe around, staring at us

As if we were the interesting animals,

And they the owners of the land.

 

The local fox takes a step out of its den,

Sniffing to check the time, preparing

For its daily hunt, its nose in the air.

 

A rabbit or two sneak onto the lawn, nibbling,

While keeping their eyes out for the danger

We might pose while walking by, curious.

 

The two of us strolling arm in arm,

Inhaling the sight and sound of the moment,

Remembering the years of golden hours,

 

Those behind and those ahead.

​

Friday, 23 October 26