Today the clouds are heading at me on stiff breezes out of the east. Winter is coming…I can feel the change. It’s mid-autumn here. March, April, and May are precursors to the winter months: June, July, August. It’s still a challenge to wrap my head around the backward and upside-down reality of living in the southern hemisphere.

Through east facing windows
the ink of night
pales at the horizon.
A rooster crows,
then another.
Without warning,
summoned by their cry,
a fringe of coral
singes jagged palms and rooftops,
shoots to ragged clouds.
The sky explodes in color,
softens and is gone.
Tropic sun crawls heavenward,
drags relentless heat
through daylight hours
then slips into decline,
slight breezes in its wake.
No lingering twilight.
A dog barks.
It’s night.
That’s how it happens here
eight degrees south of the Equator.
March 29, 2015
Sherry Bronson
Apr 05, 2015 @ 00:46:42
Love your poem. Could see every moment.
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Apr 05, 2015 @ 00:51:17
And I love writing poetry. It’s the ultimate challenge in word economy, getting the biggest bang with the fewest words possible. Tight, tidy writing at its best.
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Apr 05, 2015 @ 07:05:30
beautifully done
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Apr 05, 2015 @ 09:51:12
Thanks! By the way…I love your new haircut. Saw it on Facebook.
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Apr 05, 2015 @ 07:26:19
Love it…you captured the sunrise beautifully.
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Apr 05, 2015 @ 09:49:07
It seems to happen so abruptly. One minute it’s light, the next breath it’s dark with very little in-between.
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