harvest face
A single dark arc cuts across A harvest face, oranged by thick atmosphere ‘tween it and me, hung low and solid in the east, its face turned partly away to face its bright lord.
A single dark arc cuts across A harvest face, oranged by thick atmosphere ‘tween it and me, hung low and solid in the east, its face turned partly away to face its bright lord.
Moon shadows dapple the asphalt
As it rolls away beneath my feet
Outdone now and again by lamplight
Till golden shadows give way again
To silver glimmerings through tree-limbs
You know how terrific a really big thunderstorm can be down in the land and in a river-valley; especially at times when two great thunderstorms meet and clash. More terrible still are thunder and lightning in the mountains at night, when storms come up from East and West and make war. The lightning splinters on the peaks, and rocks shiver, and great crashes split the air and go rolling and tumbling into every cave and hollow; and the darkness is filled with overwhelming noise and sudden light.
—J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
Power lines draped across the sunset Banner Americana curling White pillowed pillars coasting eastward Breeze lackadaisically tumbling Pavement reflecting transient heat
My heart reflects, sometimes, the darkling ev’ning sky:
Helios a blaze undimmed by watercolor smears of cloud
Until he sinks below the world’s rough edge, falls out of
Mind as out of sight, leaves Hesperos to stand alone beside
Selene’s slim curve; though still the domèd path he trod is
For a while yet lit, as with the embers of extinguished flame.