Short Stories, Tall Tales

|Silver Love|

In my late summer nights, the remnants of sun rays ooze into the dry, earthen cracks.

The frogs croak while the deep, oaken woods crack

And groan from the day's weary attire

Of emerald leaves and green-boned knees ripening for the fire.

A hot, summer sun disappears behind the clouds

And at once the world is enveloped in a sea of rosy hues and bows

As the performance draws to a close.

The sky lark has rested; the red kite has nested.

The brilliant blue of the river is bleak as night draws in.

All at once, a harmony of broken chords and whooping calls.

A melody of fluttering leaves chorus as big-bellied gusts

Chase the young, green parachutes,

Gliding over treetops gilded silver by an omnipresent moon.

Tree branches are overcome with a nightly lust;

They draw closer by each passing second and intwine
Their vines
And twigs and shoots
Into each other's arms
Cradling them fondly as mysterious echoes alarm
The intimacy of their treasured loot.