Midnight Interlude

Time, now late I sipped warm milk. Then stoked the fire to warm myself. From my window seat, the pond appeared, and the weeping willow shed a tear.

 

The moon bejeweled each blade of grass and its brilliant shine was fully waxed. A lacey rime of frost emerged. Misty tendrils began a dance, and the restless wind mirrored each step.

 

The midnight song of the owl began.  A dainty mouse twitched her ear and moved in closer so she could hear.  The midnight interlude just ahead caused our mouse to hide her head. She did not wish to be a snack, so she let the shadows shade her back. 

 The lofty song filled the night, till a cranky bass leaped into the sky. The offended owl flew away, and the Indigo Blue Bunting took center stage. His brilliant wings colored bright, a display of art by lunar light.

The moon bowed low and from the pond did drink. With time now spent into the water he sank. The light of day opened-up her eyes, and her crested smile so pale of light. A cardinal’s voice began the day, his words of love on display. The morning blushed for all to see and the mated pair landed in a tree. Now my glass is washed and put away, as I reposed to end my day.

Author's Note

maybe,

Reviews

[Einstein Noodle]

i use to work nights ... no chance to interlude tho ;) strong opening line for me ..jumps right in so to speak .. the rhyming and cadence surprised me, expecting prose ... love the "lacey rime" ... you create a wonderful movement with it .. and thank you for "rime" had to look it up ...love the weave of birds, mouse and colors ... especially like how the mouse moves into shadow .. the owl is definitely master of night time hunting .. i think you speaker is doing all the right things to end the day ... let the day dust disappear ... sipping warm milk in a window seat ... mmmmmmmmmmm off to dream land then ;)
E.

[Cherrie Palmer]

Yes, my husband and I spent 8 plus years on the hoot shift. Nothing but knee's and elbows back then. Now, I stay up just for the fun of it. Well I still go to bed at 9 but many nights I'm up by 1.
And thank you, I glad you enjoyed this poem. I know I have a tendency to go with a flowing prose rather than a rhyming cadence but it just seemed to work better.
I too love the word rime a great word for poets everywhere. :)

[Einstein Noodle]

well ... we are connected in that way then, Cherrie ..i am most likely up soon after midnight and many times i am sleeping by 6 PM ... my kids make fun of me ... but hey .. i'm retired and can do what i want ... right?! ;)

[Cherrie Palmer]

amen to that

[Chris Shaw]

I do love nature poems Cherrie, and you have certainly stepped up to the plate with this beautiful write. Your midnight interlude by moonlight brought me wonderful imagery and the sounds of nature. Your description of the willow and blades of grass, particularly shine. Thoroughly enjoyed. All good wishes.

Chris

[Cherrie Palmer]

Good morning and thank you Chris. I told Jacob I accently earsed the last stanza. BOO, and it's really close but maybe a bit awkward.

[Chris Shaw]

Sorry you lost the last stanza, I enjoyed what I read Cherrie.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

what a beautiful way to end the night...all those sounds, all those thoughts in the shadows waiting to safely emerge...
the voices of nature, the voices within the poet...the painting in words...the colors of night.
j.

[Cherrie Palmer]

Thank you, I'll tell you right before i hit save I lost the last stanza and it's not exactly like i had it.
But it's as close as I'm going to get tonight. :)

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i think that stanza really works...and especially the very end...we are so lost in all that is going on with nature, outside her window...all that peace and serenity...and then a little reality and normal day's activity washing the glass...
j.

[Cherrie Palmer]

I thought that tied it back to the opening. I'm glad you think the closing works.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

it did, exactly. Bookends.

[Cherrie Palmer]

Part of me hates when I do that but then I can't help myself.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

actually it completes the thought...too many poets write in metaphor or allegory or whatever in bits and pieces but don't carry through...you do.