The Homecoming.
The curlew's call rises above the trees
And lingers, haunting the memoried landscape,
A counterpoint of wilderness to the melody
Of the long-lost and long-loved history.
The slow curling smoke eddies and twists
On the evening breeze, as the sun sets
And fires are lit in waiting hearths,
Home are the weary, doves home to roost.
The distant rumble of the road, wood wagons
Heading south full-laden, with resin scent
And sawdust signature, writing their farewell
On the smoke-scented evening air.
The blanketing fall of dusk-light greys
The daylight colours, and paints a soft
Pencilled picture of pastel and silver layers,
Then quietly the black velvet night embraces.
© 2ndwitch, 01/04/14
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