The crescent moon rises sheepishly,


as if the slightest breeze might dim it's shimmer.


The whispering palms hum in unison


a melody learned from traveling winter winds.


The San Jacinto Mountains


cloak their sun-baked weariness with a cool,


dew drenched, silver-platinum compress.


The early evening owl


hoots desert rats to sleep.


Bats begin their yawns.


Gleefull they are,


knowing they can see


for miles and miles


on parachute wings.


The desert wind


slithers over a sand-duned


lunar landscape.


The night begins anew,


but here I still stand,


still thinking of you.

08/24/2006

Posted on 08/24/2006
Copyright © 2024 Scott Utley