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It’s mid Summer.

Of a morning twilight murky.

A cut in time.

And there in the murk just beyond the back gate, the Shadowlands.

Just visible in a morning of twilight murky.

Soon, sun rise.

The Gorgon withdraws.

The shadows yet to form themselves into reality.

For the coming long warm day.

Hidden in the murk of morning twilight.

Out beyond, the wild blackberries hang, ripe and pregnant slick with dew.

The old man once told me Eternity blossoms in the dying carcass of an overripe berry

Beckoning Fall.