thegoldendolphin

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Every night I go to open the south window

And lay my gaze left to the house on the hill.

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A light still on in the darkness.

Thoughts of kindred spirit.

Questions of what they do in these hours?

Solitary, all about them, forest.

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At sundown, I glimpse its large glass walls

Aglow, pink and golden.

A beacon.

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The rolling mists,

My head rested against the window pane,

The nearby stream –

The quiet.

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There is a light on in the darkness.

summer ’24