as if to settle in

A few days ago, after a long adjustment and a long absence, he hung the brooms over the doors, placed his staff in the nook by the coat rack, hung the winter woolens in the closet, and settled down to long draughts of tea. Staring at the light changing on the floor, as the sun moved, and made squares of reflected light on the angled roof and walls. The days not cool enough yet to light the fireplace. Frost this morning, though, on the grass and pines. Every clarity of sky spins through the ends of pine needles, till they vanish into threads, finer and finer woven into empty air and light. Following the long tails of yellow grass into the wind. The way the raven's throat feathers trailed off, at the traveler's rest. So much wind. Now home, if home it is, for now, in the failing light. Evening turning blue and indigo. He needs to get up, close the windows, light fires, take down the shutters and make a meal. In a minute. Still the light is failing. A few stars just come through the royal blue.

whisper the names of fire
settle the mind into light
glimmer of crystal on staff's end
by the door

the road summoning the traveler
calling into flight what has been settled
into question, into glimpse of lost trails
under tree tunnels

in dusk, twilight, alpenglow, the ceremony
of the changing of the light