Purple, Vermilion
and Grey
Tricolour
spectrum erupts at sundown
From
behind the mountain's glorious crown
Fiery
bright rays pure cosmic might
Farewell
the day and herald night.
Deep
sheets of shimmering flame appear
Refract
in the cooling atmosphere
On
dappled kite clouds hanging still
Vermilion
twilight, shepherds will.
Pale
blue mountain eucalypt haze
Backdrop
beauty for city days
Mellows
further when evening kissed
Reflective
rays yield purple mist.
Ascendant
crescent moon holds sway
Foreground
contours fade away
Complete
the super artist's day
In
colours of vermilion, purple now grey.
A Still Summer's
Night In Sydney Looking West
In
sunset shadow, sitting atop the gum nut carpeted concrete steps, just
lazing,
fragrant
gardenias, old potted aromatic invaders, boldly blossom at my right.
Short
summer twilight skies above, now don their Sydney best, just gazing
west
and listening to all that is silent, calm and tranquil at this time
of night.
Thirty
degrees of radiant, setting summer sun journey on to western worlds,
bequeath
a balmy, cooler ambience as cloudless azure skies fade swiftly dark.
From
shades of indigo, royal and sapphire, the night sky artist then
unfurls
a
light lemon fringe to trim, in soft silhouette, the taller treetops
in the park.
The
amber blush of dusk glows low, backdrops the eucalypt's crochet
canopy,
profiles
cardboard cut out trunks and snaking boughs against those last dim
rays.
The
evening world of sombre shadow seems shielded by this protective
panoply
of
patrolling light, guardian against encroaching gloom, guarantor of
future days.
The
waning crescent moon, dawdling across the darkened eastern sky,
respects
and
reflects its mighty master, observing its rightful place in this
solar scheme.
Countless
sister stars, concealed, await the dimming sun's command as it
directs
these
cool custodians of the night, to protect its human subjects as they
dream.
My
mood and the western sky hues progressively intensify as day
dissipates
until
there is no sun, no cloud, no wind, no noise except my own heart's
beat.
Nothing
but emotion uncanny, and it thrills me to know that my favourite
mates,
the
Blue Mountains to the west, revel yet in the glorious magic of solar
retreat.
In
mellow moonlight shadow, still seated on those gum nut littered steps
unswept,
just
listening, some sudden, silent signal sets crickets chirping and in
the creek
invisible,
fornicating frogs burp their orgasms, join the treetop chorus inept
of
a cockatoo cacophony, staking out territory for the umpteenth time
this week.
By
street lights bright seductive spiders spin their sport amongst the
back lit trees
to
trap beetles and moths in hazardous night flight unwittingly plying
their quest,
but
then soft tinkle tonks of tuned wind chimes announce the cool
southerly breeze
and
toll the end of my vigil, on a still summer's night in Sydney,
looking west.
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