Without a breeze,
Only shadows of the trees
And a star or two to view.
I know if I would wait
Till my eyes adjust,
Ears attune,
The night would fill,
For then I’d hear the insects,
The rustle of a bat,
See the hanging leaves,
Perhaps an owl or two.
But I no longer trust myself
To balance in the dark,
Walk securely on the deck,
Stand safely by the garden edge.
Age will cut me off
From the mysteries of night
As it has denied the joys
Of sun-blazed days.
©2016 John I. Blair
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