Steven Hunley
04-29-2015, 05:56 PM
Spent Sun
“When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree
At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be.” -Robert Frost
It was winter and got dark early. It was already four-thirty and would be dark by five. The ancient lady with deteriorating hips shuffled past Jefferson Elementary, where she matriculated in 1942. All the trees were bare.
She made a final assent to the top of the stairs, huffing and puffing as if it were K2, and tottered into her neat apartment. She’d finally decided to make a cup of tea from a packet sealed in foil.
“It has to be Mariage Frères Darjeeling Tea. He always liked the best.”
She looked out the window, somewhere over the treetops. Birds were flying home to their nests.
“I’ll see you, Tommy.”
She added the hemlock and belladonna, two teaspoons of sugar, and gave it a stir. Then she fed the fat fuzzy cat, and left a note folded like a tent on the kitchen table next to the bowl of apples and oranges, between the crystal candle holders. She wanted it just so. She swept the room with her eyes and decided everything was done correctly, then went to the bedroom to put on her bathrobe and favorite slippers. Then she sat down and made herself comfortable on the chaise lounge facing the west window, and put her feet above her heart.
The cushions were soft, like heavenly clouds. The view was memorable.
Halfway between the tree line of stately Eucalyptus, the Spanish bell tower glowed like fired clay in the spent sun. The downtown skyline, with its massive towers of steel and glass, and the finger of Point Loma, were both incredibly clear. She felt she could see forever. She took a bitter sip, closed her eyes, and half an hour later…she could.
© 2013Steven Hunley
https://youtu.be/bU1sLx1tjPY?list=RDbU1sLx1tjPY The Crystal Ship
“When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree
At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be.” -Robert Frost
It was winter and got dark early. It was already four-thirty and would be dark by five. The ancient lady with deteriorating hips shuffled past Jefferson Elementary, where she matriculated in 1942. All the trees were bare.
She made a final assent to the top of the stairs, huffing and puffing as if it were K2, and tottered into her neat apartment. She’d finally decided to make a cup of tea from a packet sealed in foil.
“It has to be Mariage Frères Darjeeling Tea. He always liked the best.”
She looked out the window, somewhere over the treetops. Birds were flying home to their nests.
“I’ll see you, Tommy.”
She added the hemlock and belladonna, two teaspoons of sugar, and gave it a stir. Then she fed the fat fuzzy cat, and left a note folded like a tent on the kitchen table next to the bowl of apples and oranges, between the crystal candle holders. She wanted it just so. She swept the room with her eyes and decided everything was done correctly, then went to the bedroom to put on her bathrobe and favorite slippers. Then she sat down and made herself comfortable on the chaise lounge facing the west window, and put her feet above her heart.
The cushions were soft, like heavenly clouds. The view was memorable.
Halfway between the tree line of stately Eucalyptus, the Spanish bell tower glowed like fired clay in the spent sun. The downtown skyline, with its massive towers of steel and glass, and the finger of Point Loma, were both incredibly clear. She felt she could see forever. She took a bitter sip, closed her eyes, and half an hour later…she could.
© 2013Steven Hunley
https://youtu.be/bU1sLx1tjPY?list=RDbU1sLx1tjPY The Crystal Ship