A neighborhood. At dusk.

A neighborhood.
At dusk.

Things are getting ready
to happen
out of sight.

Stars and moths.
And rinds slanting around fruit.

But not yet.

One tree is black.
One window is yellow as butter.

A woman leans down to catch a child
who has run into her arms
this moment.

Stars rise.
Moths flutter.
Apples sweeten in the dark.

~ Eavan Boland, “This Moment” from In a Time of Violence


Notes: Poem Source – The Writer’s Almanac. Photo: Source- Unknown

Comments

  1. the magical transformation. dawn and dusk are my favorite times of day. they crackle with a quiet energy.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. When it’s getting dark and I have to take the dogs outside to do their numbers, I tell myself it’s exactly the same safe yard that I was outside in a couple of hours ago. It’s the same place but with less light.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I love the evening. Don’t you?

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Wishing that all the stories behind the windows at dusk are filled with the magic of a child running into loving arms..

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Memory of our family driving anywhere in the evening, and my dad and I making up stories about the people in the houses we passed. We played this game until he was no longer able to play it. That was magic for me (though I never figured out how he could pull quarters out of my kids’ ears either)

    Liked by 2 people

  6. Reblogged this on Bright, shiny objects! and commented:
    Apples sweeten in the dark. Love it…

    Liked by 1 person

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