Northport, Alabama

There are two they stand alone, twilight gathering, darkness encroaching left, right, all around. The taller, it shelters; the smaller, it spreads. The two, they watch, silent sentry to the falling sun. Things are as they’ve always been.

Secret sorrows have slept; flights of fancy have flown; whispered dreams have drifted hush-fall; fingered roots have entwined. Every day brings something new. Giddy girls and swaggering boys, flirting, frolicking beneath their boughs. Weary workers resting — forgotten sandwich in hand — gulping the spring-heavy air to sustain through a windowless afternoon shift.

But those are the memories of daytime, and night falls fast. Soon, there will be no light, save the moon, and soon, there will be no sound, save the wind.

Tomorrow has yet to be borne.

Dawn’s blush may creep slowly across the morning sky, or daybreak may arrive shrouded in mist. The sun may not shine at all. Lightning may rip great gashes in the steel gray ceiling, rain pummeling down, leaves slinging pell-mell, branches drooping way low.

Let twilight come on timid feet, or let dark come pouring in. It matters not.

They are two. Always, they are two. And the universe continues its ceaseless swirl, years immaterial, seconds a lifetime.

Music: Black Snake Moan by Samuel L. Jackson (lyrics)

Posted on February 16, 2008 by Carmen K. Sisson tagged Alabama, brown, Northport, toned, trees, writing