Flames Dancing in the Yard

Fires brilliantly dance in the blazing sky,
Clinging tightly to the effervescent clouds.
The vulnerability of the open air belies
Their dalliance uncovered from the shroud.

The heavens are drenched with the last gasps of day.
Awash with angels rushing to its warm embrace,
The final rays of sunlight are slowly, playfully cast away
As lovers’ hearts searching for safety take note and quicken their pace.

The rooted trees consent to their ever-darkening hue
In solidarity with the earth that supports their twilight soliloquies
Singing of revolution found not in the lofty, blazing flames, but in the still, quiet meadow dew
And the disruptive work of the cooling, persistent breeze.

The colors of the facade fade into a collective gray memory
Blending the natural and artificial in blessed and holy liminality.
Forgetting my scheduled busyness, I sit beneath the elder oaks aged by the centuries 
And begin to write poetry, following the flowing spirit and call of whimsicality.