In the dusk; the fading light
my consciousness floats
free to sleep, to roam, to dream.
Daytime’s resonance, artificial and brash, drifts away.
In its weakening wake,
within the soft quiet of evening, Nature speaks again.
Gently, she hums; she whispers;
shushes the leaves in the trees,
buzzes; at first a quiet drone –
cicada in the night – swelling,
a cacophony builds to crescendo,
to diminish as cools the night.
Nocturnal creatures rouse.
Night flowers with each new awakening.
Every one with their own instrument,
play their part in her Evensong;
deliver unseen complexity to the music.
Night deepens, and the Mother
puts down her baton, purses her lips
and breathes out her scent –
to float for the zephyr to take –
a bearer of her gentled nature
to those who dream within her tune.
The sparkle of the stars
bear cold and quiet witness
to the wonder of Her pristine night,
and the bearer of the keys of life:
This Earth – for which She is guardian.
Mother drifts into my dreams,
leaving me with bittersweet.
She touches my heart in whispers with her message,
and harkens me to carry it forward.
Dawn brings magenta skies.
Before the tinny, manmade sounds
carry me to daytime, I hear Her once more.
Reminding me of the song in my heart.
She bodes me remember where I will find it,
and to listen.
For it can only be found in her Whisper.