Sundown Psalm It starts in the evening. We bring the words, find the shimmer of gold across the sky, the rose, the whisper of a Presence just beyond the trees. Remember before. Before the fruits ripened. Before work took center stage, and evenings dwindled into endings, mumbled farewells, wishes and wondering. Let this evening be a promise: sweet dough in a wide bowl, slow to rise, preparation for morning, for baking, for cooling, for setting a table a long slow reach of hours. Two candles, a prayer. It starts, as always, opens, in the evening.
Beth Kanell lives in northeastern Vermont, with a mountain at her back and a river at her feet. Poet, novelist, historian, and memoirist, she shares her research and writing process at BethKanell.blogspot.com. Find her on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/BethKanellBooks), Twitter (https://twitter.com/BethKanell), and Medium.com.
Amethyst Review 