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.