Late Summer Sunset in Ramblewood, Texas

Yesterday, the willow strands clicked
In the breeze, a soft sound like shucking
Corn, passive, mindless. The wind's blowing
Autumn from the northwest. I see the clouds, smell
Rain and the sweetness of moisture, cooler
Weather. We used to play in the field across
The road, climb in the lone oak tree, spill
Our laughter over the rocks and winding hills, tumbling
Like a stream, cold and precious.

Today, we are responsible, go
In cars to asphalt parking
Lots, carrying papers and talking
On portable telephones to people we don't
Really know, about things we never
Understand. We call the mystery progress and wonder
Why it still hasn't made us
More whole, as if division
Ever yielded a sum greater than the split
Substance.

I see the sunrise and work
For the sunset, pine for the place I used
To sit beneath the trees, in the blue shade near
Twilight, with the see saw voice of crickets, and the whip-or-will
Of familiar birds calling at dusk, the knowing
Eyes of owls sitting in hollows
Beyond the tree-line. We've forgotten
Too much, remember
So little and despite our wide, roaming
Experience, still know nothing
That matters.

Jay Hill recently resumed work on a graduate degree at Texas A&M University - Commerce and is working on a biography of John Coltrane, as well as editing his first attempt at writing a novel.

From 2009 Ð 2010, he was a contributor to the online music site, tinymixtapes.com, where he had regular music reviews published, as well as the occasional non-fiction piece. Over the last year, he has had a number of short stories published in online science fiction journals such as 365 Tomorrows.

Find more by Jay Hill in the Author Index.

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