-This poem reflects on the long shadows of late summer, where even familiar boundaries become softened by evening light and the quiet passage of time.
The fence that held the noon so bright,
now stretches dark across the field,
its weathered posts grown tall again,
in evening’s slow and golden reach.
The grass receives each quiet line,
with little movement, little sound,
as if the earth were learning how,
to carry light by letting go.
No boundary feels hard at dusk,
the shadows soften board and wire,
and every ordinary thing,
is gentled by the lowering sun.
So much of late summer lives here,
not only in the fading day,
but in the grace that lengthens out,
before the light is finally gone.