Let Evening Come
Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.
Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.
Normally, I go out and collect photos and then try to find a poem to fit the one I choose. This afternoon I had the poem in mind and thought of the barn down the street. I wasn’t too happy with the sky so I blended in one also taken this evening but from a different angle. Then a few textures and now it kind a fits what I had envisioned though still not quite as poignant and image as Jane creates with her words.