Streaks of the setting sun lay softly on the flaxen
fields of the cold calm evening in the Golden West.
Purple patches appear in the hilly horizon with the
wintery night air putting the summer growth to the test.
Tall trees standing silently still and their stark stems
and trunks holding tightly, securely, ready for the night.
Rich, red soil containing the warmth of the rays of the day's
filtered sunshine, of which is leaning low - almost out of sight.
The occasional bird wisps from tree to tree as though
running late to be home again with it's feathered mate.
Fat cattle slowy saunter along the habitual track back to
the shelter of an old shed, and pass through the usual gate.
Colours change and everything becomes lifeless and still,
and gradually turns into deeper shades of grey.
Can you believe that a few hours earlier in my part
of this contrasting country that we had a magnificent day?
Sleep and recovery with the hours of the night, and for
the morning sun to rise up from the east,
and stream it's strong rays across this part of the
land we love so much - the Golden West.
Colleen Wright.
Colleen Wright
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dusk-in-the-golden-west/
