Evening shadows carry a gentle softness,

gone is the bright glare of the day,

a hush descends like a lullaby,

bidding the very young and the very old

to settle into sweet darkness.

Dreams start to gather

like clouds in the sky,

weaving together the stories of the day--

fragmented paths,

mysterious byways,

unfolding, growing.

Day into night, night into day,

the wheel of time turns,

evening shadows become morning shadows,

drifting in, raising the sun,

movement, movement everywhere,

until--

hours traversed,

evening shadows roll in

with their moon-lit fragrance,

once again.