This Worldly Light

The earth is beaten hard by working boots and baked by scorching sun in early spring that cracked like drying skin with calloused corns. As weeds are forked, entwined around the gate, I prised the tendrils, pulling out their roots, then ambered skies descended nightly slopes and gilt the rusted rails with golden tones. Above the crescent moon released aglow a halo, loosely hung beyond the dark with thorns entwined like spiral crowns in style. A shaded figure stood. He seemed alone but knocked for entry easing doors ajar. Ahead a whitened path through shadows wove a way that glimmered brightly, moonlight drenched.