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A Summer's Day

by Megan Hopkins 3 months ago in nature poetry · updated 3 months ago

A Poem

Image taken by Michael S. Adler. Obtained from <a href="Wikipedia">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Total_Solar_Eclipse_8-21-17.jpg#globalusage</a>.

The world is wrong.

Colors are no longer saturated properly

The greens of trees and grass muted as if

The evening is upon us

But the angles of light come from above

And the shadows are wrong.

The sky is no longer sunny blue

But ominous slate

The color of fossil shale

Of hateful gunmetal

Of the stone over my father’s grave.

Crescents dance across the ground

And car hoods and the coop’s roof

But the sun is still there -

It’s still there but the light is dimming

Dimming.

Anxiety and excitement screams forward

As the insects of evening begin their songs

My chickens looking for their roosts

The dogs jittery at our feet

The birds above making their evening calls.

Shrouding our eyes

We look up at the sky

Finally able to see the horror

The grandeur

As cicadas scream and wind moans.

Apep is consuming the sun.

The last sliver is gone

And we rip the veils from our eyes

Our gasps ringing

Anxiety leaving

Only awe.

In the sky is a celestial flower

Painted in wisps of pastel blues

And purples

Against the deep navy

Of the summer sky.

The crown of heaven flared

Around the dark disk

Of Luna and hidden Sol

Their embrace above

The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

For two long moments

My children screamed and ran

In the sudden dark

As we laughed and delighted

Under the navy sky and fiery horizon.

A ray of light has never been so ominous before.

As a new flower bloomed

We veiled our eyes again

Aware that the embrace was ending

And to stare at the beloved sun’s return

Would destroy our eyes if we didn’t.

With one last longing glance

I watched the Moon

Kiss her lover goodbye

As gravity pulled her away

Back into her unending dance.

Digital means could not

Capture the colors of totality

Could not immortalize

The crown of heaven

In anything but black and white.

But my eyes have seen, and they will not forget.

nature poetry

Megan Hopkins

I've been spinning story yarns in my head since I was a kid, and I've been a semi-serious writer since the age of fourteen. Professionally I'm a teacher, mother of six, and hobbyist poultry keeper.

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