In Praise of the Soft Time of Night

In praise of the soft time of night—

That threshold time when daylight crosses over

Into dark

When the bats fly

And the ground gives up its stored heat

And breezes stroke the face of the earth,

When the trees sigh and their arms sway

In praise of the soft time of night

The sky is lit from beneath

Like lights anchored to the floor of the sea.

Overhead the first star

And the winking lights of passing planes,

And translucent ghost ships of high clouds

Thin as foam left by waves upon a beach

In my backyard, into the waiting dark,

Two birds chirp a long and feathered prayer.

Street lights come on

Traffic hums along toward home

The very world, suspended, floats on grace

In praise of the soft time of night

—S. W. Springer 06-10-18