Dusk is falling.
I drive with care,
deer are headed for water.
The blue of the hour mutes color with shadow.
The foothills are sere – sun that singed grasses
left the wildest flowers to glow orange and gold.
Today, two eagles fly between the canyon walls,
wing beats slow. Do they, too, savor
these translucent hours - bordered by
fields and hills and water?
Soon the moon will rise,
bathing the hills with silver,
laying a path across the river for night creatures to follow.
Home lies at the end of this road,
but I’ve been home from the very first mile.
Judith Kelly Quaempts