It’s true, we live on the planet of the dying light
Swallows still rush to spiraling shelter
Crickets sing in cities
Sand and sweat mingle with song
Empires of ants grow and are crushed with no notice
The flow and rush of seasons continues
Loons call from the rivers the edge despite the coyotes distance
And each morning, if you stand barefoot in the dew,
Your feet will chill and the earth will warm them
The sun, though she’s fading, gives nutrients
She never relents or slows her mercy.
Erin is a doula, writer, mother to men, and teacher on permanent hiatus. She loves how writing connects us and thrives on the bright edges of human experience.