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