I love these warm, yellow evenings
with long shadows and golden edges
The grass just begging us to
kick off tight, hot shoes and
feel it, cool and soft beneath our heels.
How could they rest tired heads
on their pillows at eight
(such finality)
when the sun has barely begun
to pull up its own covers?
When the sky is still flush with rose
bidding you not to look away
as it turns a shade of periwinkle
that paints the world in twilit blue,
that paints the world in twilit blue,
and finally, deepest indigo
dazzled and star-strewn.
So many wonders yet to behold
And we tell them to close their eyes!
How can they accept
that the day is done spinning magic spells
when the fireflies haven’t come?
Lazy landings,
claimed in gently clasped palms,
oh lesson in gentleness!
The day’s last race,
the fairy-light chase before bedtime.
They tell us magic isn’t real
But they’ve forgotten what it is to be
Six on a summer evening
