Apprehension at Sunset
Unrestricted by form,
except within nature’s bosom,
the lone tree reaches out,
imploring the sun to linger longer,
its silhouetted visage obscured
by the shallow angle.
But the sun never waits
for one lone tree, nor does
the angle of light bend for it
even as the sun dips a few degrees
from igniting the clouds along the
horizon, bleeding orange crimsons,
then violet indigos, until
the lone silhouetted tree is
indistinguishable from the
quiet of night.
Until the awaking owls
sing love songs to one another
from the branches of the lone tree,
which will slowly come into focus
once the moon delivers a love note
from the departed sun.
NaPoWriMo Day 19 – Free Write