Fire of evening twilight took as immolation of the heavens, descent of the sun fading ember flame as in rose-cast light of east a blue moon rose.
He turned south on a country road, dust rising in wake of the end-August dry, mornings of heavy dew that blanketed the fields and settled the dust but burned away in the arc and traverse of sun.
Sun was died, but dust and twilight fire remained.
He saw to the east the lay of a pond, stand of trees in its southern end, its brome-lined banks and a willow on its dam.
A song began. Immersed in its words, in the fade of flame and rise of the moon, he was alive again in the memories.
*****
He remembered the summer eves, the flame and fire and cooling of sky, the rise of the moon and the show of the stars; walks from the road to the banks of the pond and sometimes into draw and water’s run beneath; a shelf of earth over fallen stone than rested as bench in cradle of the wilds.
He remembered the stories found and read and shared, words of others used to say what, if of themselves, they would have never found the means. He remembered the romances, heart-telling truths, the warmth of the spirit, body and eyes, and after-blushings like last daylight of the east; the rise of the moon as hope and a dream that, in nights, shone and lived as truths.
He remembered her smile, it’s half-cast way when pensive and in contemplation; how she played with her hair, running through front, or holding to side’s face, rest of her elbow upon knees as head rested upon in muse-repose, way her lips drew small in wait of a kiss, eyes softening the same; invitation of all with subtle shift, turning of self in a way that told and spoke of waiting; nerves that would fire, hesitation and risk which was no risk at all for each wanted, with other, the same.
He remembered the sweep, the roll and fall to lay, her eyes in changed light, gone was the flame and after shone silver of heavens and dreams and their sight as they rolled and moved and were; night songs of the wilds, swells and rhythm of breath, matching of lips and ways and meeting and in the night seeing as much with touch and sense as with eyes; and in their becoming, all senses as living One.
Laying on backs and the heavens after, night songs singing on in one with the Universal Sound, the full of the moon, and cast of the stars, galaxy strewn as half-arch way into disappearance in Cosmos’ infinite.
So much a dream, as witnessed and imagined written into the sky, but love and presence and living moment true; together beneath in experience of it all. Infinite and eternal sensed in last of summer’s lived evanescence.
*****
He parked on side of the gravel road. Dust settled, and then he left walking back to the brome-lined banks to rest as skylight died.
He witnessed the death, cooling of spirit and distillation of dreams and silver light out of darkness, the full of the moon rising great and large still low in the eastern sky.
He listened to the songs, music of the Universal Sound of which he once existed and lived as part.
All was memory then, but in the night, star and moon and sounds of ending August-flame; it restored alive to spirit once again.
_____
“Wish I didn’t, but I do remember every moment on the nights with you…”—Zach Bryan