2ndwitch: Standing at the gate.

And at the gate we pause, and look back to
See where we have been, what route the day

Has taken; and then we look forward again,

To the darkening night, and we lift the latch

And open the gate, and walk through into the

Waning hours of the day, embraced by night.

The softening velvet, diamond studded and

Vast, casts over our tired heads a blanket of

Eventide, with the sighing of the settling world

Singing the evening collect, and the final

Chords of the closing hymn.
Today was, and has been, and never shall be

Again, for now we glide along the oil-deep waters

Of the night, holding straight our course toward

The distant and beckoning dawn.
Soon it will be the turning of the year, and the

Long and moon-luminous hours of night

Will give way to the pastel new-birth

Of spring and then to blowsy summer,

Thirst-quenched and greening, bloated

With the sunshine and lazily listening to

The song of the sleeping hours, with

Only a bronze-tinged hint of autumn’s

Winds and frosts to come. Each day,

Each long day, is the year in miniature,

The spring, the summer-noon, the

Lazy-afternoon, and the winter of night.
And so we all live one life, and many lives

All at the same time.

And time and again we pause at daylight’s gate.

2ndwitch