Dusk Hike

Wind through the high leaves,

Like water over rocks,

Softens the aching

Of this azure valley;

As the sun dies

So die its thousand shadows,

And the blue call of the rising moon

Awakens a legion of secrets.

We’re a sad bunch,

But the trees don’t want to hear it,

Nor the bat,

Who is mad anyway,

Nor the crickets

Who would not have us interrupting

Their gleaming song.

It is sad that we couldn’t forgive

And so chose instead to forget;

It is sad that we couldn’t relax,

And fed our weird hungers instead;

But these ancient melodies of the coast hills,

Mellow lingering fingers

Of the sinking sun--

No treachery or loss

Could trouble for an instant

Their sacred 

And nameless 

Work.