The sun casts paths into the sky,
And sends fingers of orange motes
Through spider lashes,
I watch the slow lancing of the earth,
As the heavenly gates take their day’s harvest,
And the night calls the last
Of the souls from the forest.
They slide and climb and slither,
Out from the litter and between the boughs,
And from the hollow places
They climb towards the sun.
Out here, on this precipice,
Balanced amongst the tree tops,
I watch their exodus.
The fire of the sky rages,
And their glorious embers ignite
And the horizon glitters
With this solemn funeral pyre.
And then, it simply falls away.
The shroud rushes back to us,
The quiet purple-black in the shadows
Of the blue gums.
Their embers dim into the ice of the stars,
A mantle of diamonds,
To crown them in their ascendence.
Danielle K Day
My mother used to point out the shafts of light between the clouds at sunset. She claimed that it was the pathway to heaven, and that all the souls were leaving on that pathway. Sunset has always been a moment of awe and beauty. I was watching it today from the back deck of this house- the sun was falling into the vast forests of a nature reserve, and the quality of light between the trees was simply amazing. The night felt still, honouring the moment. Today’s soul ascent was from the forest itself.