This Golden Space
This Golden Space
I love the evening light in my backyard.
I never knew how to define golden until I regarded the sun shining through the trees and reflecting on the willow leaves at that almost-sunset angle.
This half light filters through the branches that hang low.
They’re in need of a trim.
The space between them glows a yellow that is otherworldly.
Before long, the sun slinks lower in the sky, and the yellow glow shifts to a silver pink. Argenteous is the word.
I heard it in a song once.
I wonder how the lyricist stumbled onto that word.
It means silvery in a majestic way.
It’s the color that makes me hold my breath
because it doesn’t linger long.
It’s the color of change.
There’s too much foliage for me to see the actual orb of the sun.
Only its brilliant and beautiful effects are visible through lithe branches I’ve watched grow
these last 18 years.
The same amount of time I’ve spent watching my son grow
18 years.
From this tiny bundle to the man he is now:
Brilliant and beautiful.
Argenteous.
Bats come gliding across the shadows.
I think there’s three, but I’m not sure.
Two deer rustle at the back tree line;
their ginger steps suggest timidity, but I don’t mind their trespassing.
Momma Robin, who built her nest amid the broad leaves of the hydrangea tree,
has quieted herself for the night.
She knows she’s well hidden, and her eggs are safe in this pervasive peace.
The sky bends from silver pink to ghost purple to steel blue gray,
a slow crawl toward Night’s darkness.
The air grows thicker, bedewed with the richness of dusk,
and fireflies blink between the leaves of the potted tomato plants.
Brilliant. Beautiful.
Argenteous.
I love the evening light in my backyard.
