The Magic Hour

The magic hour The day is ending, and time is one hour back but the day still serves early twilight From the window of a tourist resort, I see the mountain range I lived beyond, in a village with no name. So many years ago, when thinking about that time it appears as movies rolled fast forward the seasons turns into one, was it summer or fall? I had a dog we walked in the woods every day, she chased rabbits I chased dreams like catching the breeze The dog, tired of chasing bunnies, retired to the verandah walking alone in the forest was tiresome I knew of Serengeti in another dale tall yellow grass were lions spied, crocodiles in the muddy stream, but when I blinked; the sight had gone, substituted by grazing mules and wine orchards, beautiful red grapes going nowhere. The dog resting its head on my thigh, so tired and weary in the morning, she had gone. A dream was over; we had both been defeated by old age. I sold the cottage, but before leaving, I walked up to the hill to see the ocean, I shall not sail on. But what I have lost will forever be mine to keep.