Now that the days are shortening, like the days of my life, night comes, like a barge, toward my ship, and lurks ominously, like Trump, behind Hillary, at the Town Hall debate.
Sometimes night comes even closer, with an unwanted advance, and nudges my boat, just enough, to stir panic inside.
Other times, night enters more forcefully, and the impact is enough to tip my vessel to its side, and I feel the contents of my cabin slide across the floor, and then toward me, as the boat begins to sink, backwards, or sometimes nose down, and sometimes folded in half, plunging into the icy cold waters of death.
Night has been coming like this more and more.
I live in fear of that day in November.
No, not that one.
The other one; where we set the clocks forward
and night comes even swifter.
After that, comes the other night in November;
but I’ve taken care of at least my cabin
with an early ballot.
Last night, I gathered with women
to chase away the darkness,
but night found me even there, in the middle of the dance,
in the center of our power,
as a friend quipped: Nasty Women!
I’m typically buoyant after the dance,
but my ship could barely stay afloat before I docked it into the harbor of sleep.
I woke this morning, long before dawn, to the murky fear of death,
not just mine, but those I love.
I rose then, and began writing, this fable,
and soon, I found in me, an invincible light,
even in the darkness,
with the promise,
of a new day.
~
~
More musing regarding that second day in November:
Two Owls Calling 