Video of the poem with music.
A remembrance of twilight, an old tree swing, bats cutting through willow branches, fireflies flickering their torches, and music floated from a nearby house.
“Tweening Time”
Grey sky, black trees,
This lovely place of mine
Day seeps away
It is the tweening time.
Swing hung from weathered branch
old rope secures the plank.
A kick, a lean, the world dissolves,
As water on the bank.
Jazz plays from somewhere near,
a concert just for one.
Thoughts fly away into the gap
While night folds round the sun.
A stronger kick,
The breath held deep
Propelling to the broadest arc.
And then the leap!
A moment brings
No guideline,
Rope nor wood.
So, jazz and air combine.
Firmly planted on the ground.
Thoughts and notes combine
While art and physics dance,
Around the tweening time.
Greg Thweatt © 2023
Sunset, dusk, twilight and tweening time, words that somehow provide a warmer, more welcoming image than crepuscular. Why is that?