Evening comes slowly creeping across the landscape.
Pines deep green in daylight turn black.
A child seen in silhouette on a tire swing as cicadas'sing.
You can drink in the heavy smell of the forest.
Dad stokes the evening fire; flames leap and logs groan and snap.
All becomes intimate, the world defined only by the glow of the fire's light.
Poke the fire.
Listen to 10,000 crickets...and watch the Milky Way spin by.
Topic(s) of this poem: summer
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.