WAITING FOR MOONRISE — Gotts Island — 2017 — photograph by Ben Weinberg

The clocks go back tonight. The long pause that shifts the days off summer’s axis and spins us off into a more somber time. Footsteps quicken, shoulders hunch, shadows stir.

On the mountains’ shoulders, the wind curls and flexes, preparing to sweep in the new season. Along the avenues, leaves tremble and, in the lamplight, a black cat flattens to the pavement ears back, eyes hooded.

Sunlight feel more fragile, strained. Midnight lurks in pavement cracks, caught in wisps of darker webs among the naked branches, and in the whispers when the wind borne breath is held. Nothing ominous, merely shading down the shadow scale so that streetlights cast smaller pools and headlights fade more rapidly.

Now, light from windows seems a universe away and the stars creep closer.

Writer, walker, poet, educator. Commercial fisherman, builder, donut maker, organic grower. Boston, U. City, Maine, South Africa, Madrid.

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