Autumn Equinox

 

Growing up in a little Vermont glen,

I used to dread how daytime waned each year,

a process that began gradually

at summer solstice as long afternoons

stretched past dinner, and you would have to strain

to notice a few moments missing

when twilight's pink hue finally arrived.

But then sunshine diminished rapidly

following the autumn equinox

nestled in our village between mountains,

and there was no way not to acknowledge

the increased territory of darkness,

encroaching as if an invader

over more than its share of the clock.

The expansion of shadow's boundaries

once disturbed me. I thought the realm between

dawn and night had permanently faded,

and along with it, carefree play outdoors

absent concern for school the next morning.

Even learning it didn't last, I still

felt dismay at what seemed an endless dusk.

Now in midlife, I welcome these months

which offer dark in place of light. They give

a refuge from the sun's persistent blaze,

that constant reminder of work to do.

The gloaming has a snug quality:

a companion's gentle embrace, someone

by my side ever since I can recall.

--Jason Harlow

[Photo taken in Wallingford, Vermont]