Lit From Below

Note to blogself: post at dusk... for crepuscular derives from the Latin crepusculum, meaning twilight; and twilight, in turn, means that brief period of the day when the sky is illuminated by the sun from beneath the horizon - hence lit from below. Twilight occurs twice a day, before sunrise and after sunset, and the length of twilight depends on one's position on earth in relation to the sun and the time of year. Crepuscular, an adjective much loved by zoologists, pertains to creatures, environments and events that populate the twilight period.

Need I say more, really? Perhaps just this: I'm not sure if the 'twi' bit in twilight derives from betwixt (meaning between day and night in this case) or from two (as in twice) in recognition that the sky is briefly lit by sun and moon at the same time (and of course moonlight is only reflected sunlight anyway).

Anyway, I'm keeping it (mercifully?) brief this week on account of midsummer pub crawling with my buddies in Blackpool Supporters' Trust, so the poem is the main fare, inspired in part by another seasonal crepuscular occurrence (and more 'lit from below'), the glowing of fireflies with their bioluminescent abdomens...

Fireflies At Dusk

Fireflies
Strait as a thermometer's silver shaft,
this ribbon of moonlit mercury
threads its way to the heart of the city,
a distant sodium glow miles down the tow,

while out here we're a shire's remove:
it's greenbelt country still at the cooling end
of a gruelling day. Path and skin both radiate
from relentless baking under midsummer sun

well into the crepuscular hour and as I walk,
hedgerow murmurings fade at my approach,
resuming once the echo of my steps has passed.
I wonder if that furious argument will be our last,

if I'll find you back at the house from which
we set forth happily together many hours since.
Maybe the heat and too much Beaujolais
have opened wide the gate of truth. I've time to ponder

as I wander home alone, conflicted by your meanness
and your pain, if there can ever be a way to make
the baggage of our former lives no hindrance
to our present or our future happiness. And suddenly

my trammelled twilight causeway blossoms
with a thousand bioluminescent points as fireflies
commence their ritual display. It's beautiful to see
and I would gladly share the sight, but don't know

where you are tonight since your storming exit.
I hope you're safe. Are you missing me yet?
Has your resentful anger ebbed? Or does it still
corrode your soul like cold luciferene from below?

Actually, that's not quite the end. Mention should be made of another popular crepuscular occurrence, the seasonal arrival of Australia's fabulous Spooky Men's Chorale on these fair shores, singing everything from Georgian church music to Swedish 'folk songs' in a capella ten-part harmony as the sun disappears under the horizon. Here's a musical bonus to finish with, a YouTube clip (just click on the song title) of the Spookies concluding a concert with their quite inimitable take on Abba's Dancing Queen

Thank you and good night, S ;-)