10.3.15 A dream in my waking dusk

          Out I went, after a day of resting, climbed out of the car, and set the  pup on his way, running here and there in the near darkness, as the cool evening air chilled my cheeks with it welcome freshness, and the cows across the way audibly lowed as their day came to an end. Up above in the overcast skies, somewhere, was a moon, shining, effervescent but muted by the cloud-cover, uneven blues and whites shifting as the breeze moved it all. The lane was almost indiscernible, the farmer's gardens dark silhouettes, as my scruffed sneakers found their way along the rocky road, as the pup thundered by  to retrieve the ball with great happiness.

         And yet somehow, the crickets were quiet, as were the cicadas; no geese flying by overhead, calling calling to each other. So many lights on in the cow barns as those hard working farmers did their dawn to dusk tasks, as least having a life lived so out-of-doors, with fresh air and no pensions and great freedom if you didn't count the necessity of making a living and milking cows and getting crops in before rains. 

          All the birds were fast asleep in the grasses, so we kept away from disturbing them, stuck to the dirt road,  as I mindfully watched all that concerned me pass by, filling me with all sorts of reticence and grief and resentment and disbelief, the cleansing act of letting all things rise to the surface, to be felt and have their air time, and quietly pass on by, until I was unburdened a bit, for the night, lighter, and found myself ambling down into the darkness, toward the river, with my dear four footed companion by my side, his black shape a dream in my waking dusk.