Sun crackles in the blue reserved hill.
One lone leaf glitters eerily of chill.
The sky looks grosgrain from my window sill.
The vastness of hill country in a leaf
Dances beyond the span of all belief,
The splendor of its memory is brief.
You may not want to hear it when I say
That earth is in the twilight of its day.
The depth of it is drinking us away.
A cloud is distant parchment in the sky.
Today’s boat is a shadow sailing by.
Minutes will never catch it, though they try.
I wish it could be ever sunset, Friend,
That fey instant before all colors blend,
Dusk held at the crescendo of its end.
– Sandra Fowler