is an hour in the autumn, before the day descends into darkness,
A time at the end of summer, to ready oneself for the night, for the cold,
for the change, for the journey.
This is the time. This is the hour.
And it’s a journey you know already. For it’s an old knowing.
Without ever having gone through it, you know,
It will never be the same
Even if it’s not the first time, even if it’s happened before.
The gathering winds, the quickening blood: the light catches the underside
of the branches and turns the sky a pale, thin blue.
Colours fade. The hum subsides. Storm clouds darken. Shadows rise.
But should you attempt to put off your departure
To huddle inside your bushes and hide,
The winds and the storms and the changing light
Will shiver in your sleep tonight
It’s time to go
And not a second longer