Blush

What do the storied pastels of

sunset truly offer,

if only a flash of color rarely seen.

Peace, calm blood,

a time for rest –– the day is over

a time for stress –– the night has begun

what in their temperature gives pause?

I see reminder of fall, change.

I see hearth and important stories.

I see blood moving out from within.

I see the swirling timber of impermanence,

a blank hypnosis,

but nothing that takes me somewhere

with air and stones.

An aesthetic of no threat.

No hidden places or short glances

or sharp motions or lost control.

Just a silent flower with no smell,

roots, thorns, a blossom without intention.

[Caleb Garling is a journalist/writer and author of The St George’s Angling Club, a novel about the outdoors.]