A QUIET CHILL by Charlene Moskal

Late afternoon early winter intones silent – nature’s melancholy breathes aquiet chill adorned on the best of days by cold sunshine, on the dullest, gray  shrouded landscapes, widow’s shawls.

An impatient moon rises

A sliver of unripe honeydew

Waits to be applauded

Sadness perhaps at the end of a winters’ day as if it knows it will never  return; never have the chance to redeem itself in warmth. I, a traveler on  its receding back am enveloped in night fall.

She sneaks like a back-door lover

Enters the room of sky

Avoids clouds that want to erase her

In the waning light I am in love with the sky, watch the change from  softness to softness; light to dark, comforted by its constancy like a prayer to  gods both frightening and intimate.

She rises cupping her belly

Shyly so no one sees

The pale fullness she embraces

Charlene Stegman Moskal is 76 years old and she prefers she/her. She writes as her day/night gig without the expectation of paying the mortgage. Her first Chapbook "One Bare Foot" is published by Zeitgeist press. The second one forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.