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End of Day

Updated on June 10, 2014
Marsei profile image

I have lived in a suburb of New Orleans for 40 years. I work at home with my two cats, Lucy and General, and my husband of 50 years, Joe.

General in the Sun

The Sun Transforms the World

Endings

If I Were to Ever Write a Poem

If I were to ever write a poem, I would write about the way the afternoon sun streams through the sheer curtains in my sitting room. I would write about the way it changes my fat gray cat from a boring pet to a magnificent creature whose hair is all aglow with golden light as he sits on my desk.

I would write about the shadows from the trees that form between 3:00 and 4:00, letting me know that another day is almost done and about the birds that flock to the feeder, their feathers glinting with the light of the sun, hoping for one more bite before nightfall comes.

If I were to ever write a poem, I'd say 4:00 is my favorite time of day, although it also makes me sad to see another day fading. I'd talk about the huge pine trees in Arkansas and the way the light shines through them at that time of day, their shadows reaching across the gravel road we travel. I'd write about my father-in-law, long gone and sorely missed, who used to say, "Sue, that Nature is a beautiful thing."

I'd write of sitting on the bauxite hill across from my house as a child, watching the sun slowly inching its way beyond the horizon, listening to my mom's voice, becoming more frantic as dark came nearer, calling me home. I'd write of watching wild turkeys flying up to roost in the trees, of hearing owls deep in the woods, settling in for the night, all prompted by the gentle and peaceful decline of the sun as it slipped behind the trees so far away.

I would remember all the days of my life, watching the sun slowly set. I'd remember joyful and exciting times and sadness too, and I'd remember that the sun always came again eventually to dry up the rain and the pain and set once more as it will do for my children's children's children. Life goes on. We live and learn and experience sadness and joy and contentment -- or maybe not -- but life goes on. It waits for none of us. There is no all aboard call. Oftentimes the train leaves before we are ready. And still, life goes on and we are left with no choice but to wait for the next one, which will come tomorrow with the rising sun.


The Trees on Fire with Gold

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    • Parks McCants profile image

      Parks McCants 4 years ago from Eugene Oregon U.S.A.

      That's a beautiful thing dear lady! Perhaps your best work to date. I could feal it, I could touch it...

      Thank you.

    • Marsei profile image
      Author

      Sue Pratt 4 years ago from New Orleans

      Thank you, Parks.

      I loved writing it.

    • Marsei profile image
      Author

      Sue Pratt 3 years ago from New Orleans

      No idea on earth what this is about!

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