A thickness of night. Coolness
smoothing over the yard, removing the
last remnants of day’s heat;
windows shut and sweaters appear.
The lakes dark surface humbles even
the brave. Inside, cabin lights extinguish
like falling stars. Night sounds filter
through aged screened windows.
The aroma of pine lingers
heavy in the air. Soft voices respect
those preparing for bed. Frogs call
out while fireflies descend into tall
grass. A baby stirs the air for a
moment. A door shuts. Night owns
the forest.
Roger Singer 