Twilight Reach

The horizon trembles under molten skies,

And distant hills are brushed with evening gold.

I hike where birches sway and shadows rise,

Their slender limbs like voices uncontrolled.

A gentle creek moves through the moss and stone,

Its voice steady and older than my own.

Who charted paths for stars I cannot see?

What hands once pressed these earthbound contours deep?

The wind drifts through the hollow of the trees,

Stirring the leaves as if the forest sleeps.

Yet in this pause, a tremor stirs my mind,

A question tethered to no name or time.

Below, the fields hold cows in tender rows,

And smoke from houses curls toward the dusk.

A dog barks far, then silence swiftly grows,

Enfolding all in twilight’s gentle husk.

These moments seem both fragile and immense,

A fleeting balance of the small and tense.

I stand among the fading light and air,

Aware that life is both the spark and dust.

Though I will leave this clearing unaware,

I take its silence, steady pulse and trust.

That even in our brief and wandering way,

We touch the edges of the infinite day.