{nat’l poetry month: night}

Davies Symphony Hall 1“>

This is the symphony hall… in December, because none of us carried a camera last Sunday.

A week ago, I spent a Sunday evening singing with members of the SF Symphony Chorus, singing with their director, who is a man of enormous patience and enormous energy, and rather quirky metaphors for just about everything. He was all things charming, it was a lovely evening spent with good friends, and we had a short walk through the fresh evening to our modes of conveyance, and a short journey home.

I thought of that night last night, when I stepped to the slider downstairs to close the door, and the most gorgeous scent of night-resting flowers brushed in on the breeze. There is something about a cool Spring night after a warm Spring day. What blasts us in the summertime certainly tempts us in the spring.

night fey

beguiled by rich scents
tempted to leave doors open —
April, it is too soon!

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