rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Conceit*: Watching Winter Twilight

Night does not fall, at first, but rises from the east, drapes the sky like one sheer curtain after another being drawn, each a darker shade of blue, and gathering a few more stars within its folds. It is the day which falls, sinking like a dying fire. For a while, light of gold or rose glows like a row of footlights lining the western horizon, then lingers as deepening blue, soon to be extinguished as day's drama ends.

A long time, I watched that diminishing western light. The pines lining the street beyond the orchard stood our as sharp silhouettes, then gradually blended with the night until they could barely be distinguished. All the while, the crescent moon gathered substance, as though a ghost were returning to fleshly form. Once night had fully drawn itself across the sky, the moon hung there, a happy grin of light, the reflection of vanished day, taking a bow, standing before the curtains for the admiring audience. Slowly, reluctantly, did it leave the stage.

Much later, I see it sink behind the trees. Full night accomplished, the hours pass. Much later still, the night at last will fall, sinking in the west like a collapsing stage set, drawing its dimming lights after it, as day again rises with a glow of eastern footlights. Night's curtains will draw back, one by one until, to an applause of bird song and rumbling traffic, the anticipated Star appears.


*conceit; 3a & 4b
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