The sun recedes from its high water mark. The blitzkrieg of Beltane is no longer seen as a benevolent liberator by Lughnasa. Darkness amasses a counterforce set to strike on the equinox. By Samhain, a series of nighttime raids will reoccupy the border strongholds in the empire of the sun, whose string of minor setbacks transforms into a rout.
But the sun remains high and bright this morning, a piercing tyranny of light. Little hides from its unrelenting gaze. Just a softness lingering near the margins, more shade than shadow, sensed but not quite seen. Until darkness swells on the horizon and low clouds grumble their righteous indignation until their indigo anger flashes brilliant white against the despotic summer blues.
At dusk, sunlight melts into the crucible of another day, its molten gold briefly shining through the accumulated dross before staining the horizon a bloody red as it reluctantly yields the field to night.
Storms of yellow twilight bring a gentle rain of lavender flowers, each tiny blossom replaced by another in seemingly inexhaustible clusters. Soon, their colorful numbers will dwindle, unreplenished, as summer's tears wash the fallen into shallow, muddy graves and a chorus of the night sings in requiem.
But tonight, that insurrection is merely in the planning phases, bright lines on a celestial map, shadows gathering behind the garden wall. The lords of light still reign resplendent, while dark princes wait impatiently for their time to rule our terrestrial realm.
© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III
