The sun hangs heavy in the western sky,
seeking refuge behind darkening clouds.
Deep blue hugs the heated curves of light,
bending them as the tree limbs shroud
wet layers of green water and dark shore.
It is unmotivated, waiting for guidance,
attempting a slow, gradual retreat toward
the soft pink fingers of twilight’s expanse.
The pull is too great. The orb, sinking low,
moves smoothly, without hesitation,
going down, to kiss the blushing glow,
leaving it lavender with satisfaction.
Dusk is the siren’s song, seducing the sun
into shadow. Night’s web has been spun.
This has been a Wicked Wednesday post.