Dusk is that special time
daylight relinquishes its favor.
Colors slowly wash out, diluted with grayness.
Details of objects soften, to murky dark shapes
Dusk is the time where
birds vacate their feeding turf and fly to secret resting spaces.
Crickets pump up their cricketing for the second shift.
Fireflies flash coded sexts.
Nightcrawlers break through dew-softened soil to the air
as voles relentlessly pursue them.
Bats fly towards the moon, ticking and clicking,
moths and mosquitos their suspended popcorn treats.
Mice and rabbits browse and do warmups, readying to skitter
at the first whoosh of owl’s wings
Deer slowly step their ways out of cover
and begin to graze green fields and human’s gardens.
Dayflowers close their petals and rest;
butterflies fold their wings and dream of cocoons.
Moonflowers, datura open their petals,
their sweet scents calling nightwings in;
moths drink their nectar, cavort,
and do bat-defying somersaults.
Dusk is the special time when waves at the big lake become more auditory than visual.
Seagulls fly from near and far to huddle in now-muted groups.
Lawn chairs and logs converge on fires dotted along and down the beach;
laughter and clinking glass waft on booms of pounding surf;
an acrid smell of smoke catches the nostrils from time to time.
Dusk is the special time
where wee folk prepare for their evening adventures:
readying to cast silver nets in the rivers to catch sleeping fish
readying to sneak into shoe shops and mend shoes
readying to sprinkle faerie dust on moonbeams
readying to click their heels to charm bullfrogs for a ride.