Spring Resurrection

BY LIZ GALE

Softly shifting skies,
clouds masking the solitude
of the setting sun
flowing effortlessly in a pastel dream.
Shadows of leaves drifting
slowly down the lane,
weary trees brushing the cobblestones
with darkened light.
Night falls slowly.
Creatures of the night
beginning to stir, the dusk, their dawn
as the awakening stars whisper softly
to them the moon rising gracefully.
The sound of an owl cracks
through the cool air,
twigs rustle on the ground as
hedgehogs forage the dark emerald grass.
Our darkness, their light.

 

Liz Gale is a retired postmistress now residing in a village just outside Scarborough in North Yorkshire. 

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