SUCH DAYS, MANY THINGS

Thursday, September 24, 2026

Tonight a southerly wind has cleared
away the clouds and now the moon,
slightly tilted in the sky, shines
a little light upon the hills.

We pause, welcome the measures
of silence in the evening's song,
and rest our thoughts of things
the winter will bring.

Clouds as frail
as tattered paper
move across
the evening sky while
beside the
old pond the willows
are nodding.

Glow of a street lamp

reflected in the window;

the radio plays

an old sad song as the rain

falls in the gray city dusk.

Far in the distance
the faint outline of the hills,
like pencil sketches;
the train rolls on past scattered
old trees, their last leaves dangling.

Puddles on the street,
remnants of this morning's rain,
reflect a pale moon;
the old trees sway in a wind
that has blown the leaves away.

Clouds are moving in
from the west as the sun sets
in a wash of red;
a bus with one passenger
rolls past the empty storefronts.

In the deep night
pebbles of rain
pound the flat roads
even flatter
while the wind whines

high in the trees.