Sep 07

Red moon

The red moon greets me on the horizon
Pale from smoke

At first there is no noise
Yet the crickets coo and hum
My feet scuff on the trail

There is no light
The merest shade of not black
A suggestion that maybe the black and white of the canvas can change

I have yet again missed the owls and nighthawks
Their hunting already finished

Finally a scrub jay announces night has let go
Day has not arrived so much as snuck in
In this time when I’m walking the dog