Close of Day

An aura of expectation hangs
on the atmosphere, or perhaps
it's only us, yet it seems
as though late afternoon
appears anxious to meet its
appointment with evening, 
too soon transforming from
the white brilliance of a sun
dappled snowy forest to a
long-shadowed, furtive wood.
As the temperature drops 
so too does the sun, hovering
on the horizon catching the
bare-limb canopy to set it afire
but briefly as dusk descends
and the moon assumes her
bright oval throne, and our
boots crunching on the ice
crystals overlaying snow, we
stride the forest pathways
toward home and warmth, 
our little winter-coated dog
trotting companionably beside.