Iris Noble
Supper over, the dishes washed and dried,
We take our coffee out to sit a bit and watch
Lingering westerly light paint upon tree and rock
A pink sheen that fades into lavender and is gone.
Dusk gathers her shadows quietly into darkness,
Her preferred garments of shroud and cowl.
Our other senses quicken for an owl call or bark of fox;
The air grows redolent of marigold and dooryard phlox.
The mantle clock strikes ten, and we’re about to go in
When out over the near field and far trees beyond the fence,
Something like light summer snowflakes begin to fall, a white
Silence settling upon our lawn and all along our garden wall:
The sheer beauty and sudden romance of such a moment,
This moon-rise dusting of Nature’s nocturnal countenance.
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