The Wilderness of Common Days.

Brief rain in the trees, flicker of leaves, a few shadows returning. Light coils back at edges of cloud; the sun elongates at the horizon. Garden berries picked wet in pails, weeding undone, you lie on the summer porch, eyes losing focus toward sights that lead into sleep and may never be remembered. The dreamer becomes the dream and sets out to wander. When you return, time has settled for darkness, and from sub-paths where you have been you bring a sense of both loss and gain from two worlds of need that have tried to join. Before the moon rises, scoured clean, the sky pales to a rinsed ink-blue. You cannot say how it happens: darkness becoming something else on its way to being light. Some moments it is enough to simply watch with empty hands and sometimes open eyes.