November at Dusk

There’s an unsettled quiet in the air this evening.

The clouds are boiling up but there is no rain in the forecast,

and I cannot hear the distant sound

of traffic, always an indicator of rain on the way.


The air is still, not a breath

stirring. The birds flit

uneasily from tree to tree; deep in the woods

I hear the raucous call of a crow, but even he seems

subdued. A tinge of red

lined the clouds briefly, a promise for tomorrow.

Perhaps it is just

November, bringing with it

the long twilight, the sudden darkness

that we are not yet expecting. It is too warm for a fire,

but this dismal evening makes me want

the bright cheeriness of the fireplace.

About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
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