by Helen C. Nowak
Evening moans through Douglas firs,
Stirs wood in a cauldron of shade,
Riddling the past.
Moonset glances backward
At scarlet-splattered needles
Forgotten behind fog.
Shadows sigh to indigo darkness;
Silver-veined maples tarnish beneath
A swarm of stars.
A cricket’s lullaby wakens an owl
To glide through a ripple of night,
Her life’s beginning.
Helen C. Nowak divides her time between her home in Colorado and her
university studies in Pennsylvania, where she dabbles in creative
writing while working towards becoming a healer.