An Evening in Thought
The night is setting in quietly, turning the pinkish sunset into a faded grey. Shadows move stealthily from the tall evergreen trees on the back hill towards the cabin. It's warm outside; too hot to sleep. The odd mosquito annoyingly buzzes by while I sip my red wine. I light the citronella candles thinking they really don't help much anyway! No breeze tonight. I guess it'll be a hot day tomorrow. A small single star appears in the sky. The star is barely visible because the sky is not dark enough yet. All I can hear is the creek that hastily runs past to become one with the lake. I wonder what the brook trout do all night. Maybe tomorrow I'll do a little fishing; then again, maybe not. I really don't like to kill anything. I do love the challenge of fishing though. Nice to reel it in and feel that little rush of adrenaline, but then I feel sorry for it. My son releases them most of the time. I wonder if fish think and feel things. I'll pick huckleberries instead.A frog croaks noisily in the distance. I speculate on why he is so vocal at night. Maybe he can't stand the silence. Some people are like that. Myself, I am partial to the silence sometimes. I like to be alone with my thoughts. Never could understand why some people always need noise around them. Is it a fear of being alone? Maybe they just don't have things to think about, on the other hand, maybe it's so they don't think about the things they should. More frogs join in chorus croaking in their own eccentric way to greet the night. Laughingly, I recollect Red Skelton and his poem "Frogs'. He was a magnificent clown!
There are more stars lavishly strewn across the heavens. Do you ever think about what the big dipper holds? Some people say nothing. It's empty space, not at all important. I disagree with their views. It's like saying the space between the window frames is not important. What about the empty space within a glass? There is definitely more there than meets the eye. All kinds of life and movement exist within those "inconsequential" spaces. I like to imagine all the magnificent and curious substances that fill the big dipper. Do you think the extraterrestrials take their drink from her as they transcend the flickering night?
While I pour my second glass of wine the waxen moon smiles down as if he can read my thoughts. He has seen more than the mind can imagine. Maybe he is wise beyond time itself. For some strange reason gazing at the wise old moon brings a verse or two from Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam to my mind:
To-day of past Regrets and Future fears;
Tomorrow! - Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.
For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time has prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend - ourselves to make a Couch - for whom?
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and - sans End!
Written by Beverley©
Music: "Don't Let The Sun Go Down on Me"
