Dreams in the dusk, Only dreams closing the day And with the day’s close going back To the gray things, the dark things, The far, deep things of dreamland.
Dreams, only dreams in the dusk, Only the old remembered pictures Of lost days when the day’s loss Wrote in tears the heart’s loss.
Tears and loss and broken dreams May find your heart at dusk.
--Carl Sandburg
Part of my heart is still in sunny Italy, and today as the gray of late fall descended over Hamburg my mind was on this first evening of the Squam retreat a few weeks ago--this beautiful, magical dusk. I couldn't get over a sense of déjà -vu, of having already been there, with these same lovely people, in a dream.
This time of year is my favorite, and dusk is the time of day that pierces my heart, but both are hard for me too--the slow waning of the light. (I wrote another post two years ago about dusk--in the Springtime after our first long German winter). There's just something about it--the dusk of the day and the dusk of the year--something mysterious and divine. Do you feel it too?
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