EVENTIDE by Robert Steven Hanchett

A vagrant breeze, tugging at tall grasses and dancing through the trees

a portrait of the wind within the frame of its touch.

Remembering all that's been forgotten, all the people lost

sketched within the outline of the present moment.

Dusk is sprinting up the side of the mountain

while legions of shadows quietly gather, conspiring

to consume the children of light, the ephemeral offspring of the stars

caught in the suspension of things

We live a twilight life.

Our youth, bravely marching forward in glorious forgetfulness

of what age cannot help recall.

Abiding always and too soon through a multitude of generations, as leaves that fall in Autumn

Cedar, Pine and Oak - Yucca, Creosote and Cholla

took no notice of my progress.

The mountain and desert trails I know so well as my heart

have already erased any trace of my passing.

We are not wise so much as endlessly scheming, nor great so much as hung in self-deception

nor kind so much as grounded in complacent cruelty, nor loving so much as relentlessly selfish.

We have destroyed so much more than saved, torn down so much more than built up

disregarded more than comforted those in greatest need, presumed more than understood.

To measure our days by the sun, our months by the moon, our years by the passing of seasons

To reckon our existence as the sum of whatever sadness or joy comes our way

To overlook what was hinted in ecstasy, or shouted in unexplained tragedy

To disregard the arbitrary nature in the brief turning of circumstance of the pause in eternity's flood

An old dog, near death, stared out at the horizon and

saw itself, at peace.

Though all I could see was a question and

not time enough to answer.

Whatever I have done or failed to do

along the reach of life's passing

Stillness yet inspires strength and even

nightfall, possibility.

The breeze that blows at gloaming

The darkness that descends with age

The suffering that arrives unexpectedly

The end that will never come