the lord of her dawn
in the throes of fire, claims
a waltz in the figments of a hundred shades
that slip between them as invisible rain
as the ash settles in silky psalm
and drops to earth redrawn
they close their eyes to the thin places
and find their lost love song
Driving home with my Mom, during that magical golden hour, as the sun was setting, I kept seeing the trees in their nakedness seemingly as if they were on fire. I couldn’t help but think the scene was as if the trees were caught in a waltz with the sun, serenading them.
The following images are those that I captured. I love this time of year of transition, of rebirth.