the gentle season...

this is
the
gentle season...

this is the time of
year when something soft
and liquid
whispers through
the downy promise of
this late november twilight
as it waits
in hushed silence
like
a hopeful novitiate
motionless in
prayer

this is a tender time...

the hour
just before
dawn,
a single heartbeat of
a day
shattering the sky with
a hue so innocent
a soft blush
of innocence
that is but a mirror to
the morning

this is a fragile moment...

it sits
in balance on a blade of
prairie grass,
standing on tiptoe
at the edge of tomorrow,
holding its breath,
waiting for
the breeze of yesterday to
move all regret
past the
empty waiting of today

this is sweet immanence...

a touch so infinitely
near,
a whispered
caress
as still as the silence of a hare
just beyond the clearing...
a spectral stroke of divinity
felt
only
in the space
between
heartbeats,

the
magic
season when the
dream
becomes
her
truth...