Pastel light in hues of marigold and lupine lull my eyelids, seducing slumber.

With a shiver at the nape of my neck, I feel dusk tiptoe in, and I welcome her. She is a wrinkle-eyed crone wearing a hoop skirt full of pockets. Pick one, she dares me. I close my eyes, slip my hand into teal corduroy and touch something oblong and worn on the surface, like driftwood (*). I can hear the tongue of the ocean shushing against the sand and frothing into peaks and crests, valleys and planes. The smell of salt spray drifts in through the open window.

I’d like her to stay a while and paint the sky inky-indigo blue but it’s a fading slate instead. I watch as dusk swirls her skirt and out of the folds soar stars and planets. Black velvet lands gently atop trees and hills, rooftops and sidewalks; a backdrop for jewels.

Before long, she kisses my forehead and just like that, she is gone.

*a note about the symbolism of Driftwood from Chris Maser:

“Driftwood” is a vision from beyond language, beyond any possible embodiment of meaning in a word. It symbolizes the Eternal relationship between wood and water, between forest and sea, between life and death. It symbolizes the ever-present moment, which is at once the past, present, and future–here, now, in this nanosecond contained. “Driftwood” is but an infinitesimal glimpse into the wonder and mystery infused in the human psyche from the outer reaches of Infinite Creation that we call “the Universe.”


3 thoughts on “Dusk

  1. njensen6 says:

    Some of your best writing yet. She has given me a thrill. A giggle down my spine. I long for her to stay but I already know her well.
    So creative! What a joy!

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s