Evening Stroll

by R. D. Ashby

When I step out

into the great beauty of evening

then in the faultless sky and trees

the whole of life is reconciled.

All its toiling issues

the slow traffic flow becomes,

my easy walking pace

marking the tempo of the twilight.

Vision is harboured in

perspectives and shades,

the high trees, huddled bushes;

the hesitating black cat.

Curving round the block

imagination’s path is already home;

the locus is here,

where mud and leaves develop.

How far removed

from the blaring of the nations

claiming a day, void

of all but metaphor.

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