the thickness of night
as a cool blanket of air
slips onto the yard
lifting out
a day of warmth
windows shut
sweaters appear
a dark lakes 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
Roger Singer 