Smokey Mountain Vista by George Masa (on the right)

In the Gloaming

In the gloaming cusp when day blends into night,

some people dread night's coming with fright.

A primal fear that when night is creeping near,

ghosts, goblins, other evil creatures will appear.

They feel it in the eerie haunting sounds,

hooting, fluttering, squeaking, sneaking by,

expecting great danger lurking in shadows,

behind every tree, rock and cloaking sky.

Prefer to be walking with my love hand in hand.

Sitting close to the edge of a precipice's stand.

Or alone with thoughts of a love so long lost,

remembering joy, laughter, sorrow and cost.

As the light dims to faint in the far distance,

fireflies and stars twinkle on in forest and sky.

Owls, doves, crickets, frogs and cicadas call,

their mating love songs they live and die by.

Reminders that the gloaming is a time of change,

when the day creatures in safe haven go to sleep,

when the night creatures wake up to live their lives,

both have their purpose when their time arrives.

When we relax in the coolness of the coming night.

Understand those calls, eyes adjusting to the light.

We can hear and see so much more without fright.

Especially at gloaming crux between day and night.

Copyright 2020 © Ronald W. Hull

8/7/20

You can read and print this poem at my website here.