Sleep

When shadows emerge from the silver maple
to embrace my garden path,
Day begins her surrender
to Night’s advances, reluctantly,
and a gentle hand finds
rest on my shoulder.

I know the touch.

I am accustomed to my Friend’s
silent salutation each fading day.
I wait with tangled emotions.
Day departs, Night unfolds
his dark cloak and I
discover a sadness
in the goodbye,
wonder in the
welcome.

We speak together of laughter
and tears, simple pleasures,
sacred encounters,
all the memories
Day leaves behind,
gifts to sort, to savor.

When the last glowing log breaks
in scattered embers and
fingers of fire struggle
to dance on the hearth,
my Friend moves closer,
lifts my hand as an offering to
the care of one who arrived
unseen, unheard.

Rest smiles as we walk together,
abandoning remnants of the day,
silently moving through dense darkness
until, without word or warning,
she releases her hold
and I drift with embracing,
fragrant currents into
the waiting arms of
Sleep.

All is well.