The birds know –
There’s no lying to them.
With the creaking of the cosmic pulley
Which brings us the sun,
Accusatory fingers of night-cloaked branches
Point to the horizon.
Fresh-faced and sparkling
Marching up the sky
Crunching across darkness –
an intruder trampling fallen leaves –
The grievous things which stick to the Night
Scurry back to their hidey-holes.
–Image by Danny Thomas