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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