Twilight sinks upon the forest,
Tightening her cloak tinged rosy by light pollution
Over the old oaks.
Venerable trees, you mighty king of limbs,
And white road oak,
Bent by the years and grown tall with time,
Wait still in the silence of the early evening,
Patient shadows in the gathering night.
Crows caw, calling one another to roost,
A dog walker exchanges an easy greeting,
Two damp canine snouts snuffling the well-trodden mud
That coats path and boots in equal measures.
Feet trudging, jeans caught by long-fingered brambles
We walk until the hooting of two owls resounds
In a ghostly echo around the forest.