Dusk Fog As pastel clouds bloom, stretch, and slack, mist rises from the hillside’s back. Dishes get washed. The kids get hugs and story time. The lightning bugs and bats show up to flash and flit. The treetop’s now a silhouette in the fading light. All the day’s rough words and anxious thoughts are enough to bleach the evening’s beauty, when they’re fully felt. The softness in the warm air whispers wordlessly that maybe wrecked hearts can still be restored, as this simple, lonely place awaits the night, shrouded in grace.
Steven Searcy lives with his wife and three sons in Atlanta, GA, where he works as an engineer in fiber optic telecommunications. His poetry has been published in Ekstasis Magazine, Reformed Journal, Fathom Magazine, The Clayjar Review, and Foreshadow Magazine. You can find him on Twitter @ithinkiamsteven