Acceptance

When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud and goes down burning into the gulf below, no voice in nature is heard to cry aloud at what has happened. Birds at least must know it's the change to darkness in the sky. Murmuring something quiet in her breast, one bird begins to close a faded eye. Or overtaken too far from his nest, hurrying low above the ground, some waif swoops just in time to his remembered tree. At most, he thinks or twitters softly, "Safe." "Now let the night be dark for all of me. "Let the night be too dark for me to see into the future." "Let what will be, be.”