Evening Valley Song

Gravel shrieks, the hills reply.

The car door a lone clap,

caught by the moon: a rising spotlight.

Crickets: a metronome

stirring her ear.

Through boughs

small wings dart.

Beneath the mountain’s gaze

she smells rain.

Rain

stings her outstretched palm,

as the pin-drop plain

welcomes the sky’s song.

Droplets

hammer a tin roof to rust –

an exhausted clothesline curtsies

and sings for the wind,

even as leafy canopies

soak up clammy applause.

Stars:

a growing ensemble

deafens dark clouds

as she watches the last drips

fall from the petals.

The front door; a resounding clap

as she turns away

and the music

dims to whispers.

Alannah East