I honestly believe I was a Native American in an earlier life because I don’t like coming inside once dusk has come and gone. It’s so quiet, peaceful and beautiful outside that I wish I could stay all night! And there’s been more than one night (crazily, considering the bears..) I’ve dragged a few cushions, pillows and blankets outside so I didn’t have to go inside – at all. And I’ve always slept like a baby – never waking up ’til the sun shone full in my face.
I hope to have a little bitty house built on my property just so I can sleep outside – and and it would look something like this. (Uncle Mikey – are you listening!?)
++ I had no idea writer Jane Yolen (who I had once the pleasure of meeting) wrote a poem called “The Night Garden” !! See below for my poem “My Aunt’s Twilight Garden’.
Tonight, as I watched the clouds scuttling across the sky… I moved where I was sitting so the ‘Intruder Hummingbird” could have his late night snack….(The ‘Intruder’ is very wary because the Resident Hummingbird, who got used to me very fast, is always chasing away the ‘Intruder’, who’s still too nervous to feed when I’m close….. )
In any event, I decided I’d try to capture the beauty of my gardens after the sun goes down. I hope you enjoy both the photos and my poem.
+++ My Aunt’s Twilight Garden +++
Crickets would chirp merrily among the Bachelor Buttons and Zinnias in my aunt’s twilight garden. I would tiptoe out to their hiding place, and bending low, whisper goodnight.
Viewed from my childhood window, trees would rustle and sigh gently, silhouetted against the darkening sky. The sounds of older children at play would drift along the breeze, arriving muted but gay.
God was in his heaven during those lazy summer twilights. The world would slowly close its eyes until darkness and peace descended
Unknown and unseen, but felt deeply, something beckoned to me in the moonlight.
In adolescence I learned the world was not asleep but had only changed into its nightly coat of jet black and diamonds. And I began to realize the night sounds had somehow hushed their voices so I could no longer hear them in the moonlight?
I had arrived at the future.
The bright sun of day leaves but little time for dreams. And yet…..
May all your twilights be full of magic and may you always be able to hear the crickets whispering to you in the moonlight ! Cecile Hamel-Roy – – My Yellow Farmhouse