Sometimes sunrise presents a paradox. Darkness illuminated to reveal darkness. Breathtaking beauty obscured as if bruised by shadows. Hope corrupted pessimism and despair. There’s a curious verisimilitude between dawn and dusk. A dance between optimism and melancholy. Curious contradiction? Yes. And no. The poem, “Aurora Oscura,” in today’s post explores this further, inspired by the photograph captured on April 11, 2013 from Rosslyn’s front door.

There’s such potential and potency in nature’s transitional moments like this. I find that to be especially so when mid-flux, when seemingly contradictory (but inseparable) duality is especially evident. These liminal spaces offer insight into my own emotional states and life transitions.

Aurora Oscura

The creosote horizon
blooms white gold above
Lake Champlain's restless wrinkles
despite a darkness
brooding and purple bruising.
As hopeful hues cool,
my molten hope ambering,
time’s fickle fulcrum 
appears to fumble,
daylight’s delicate balance
is teetering on
this thirsty threshold of change.
Neither dawn nor dusk,
morning mistaken evening,
first light or twilight,
signaling surrender or
flaring defiant
beneath encroaching shadow.
First gasp a last breath,
a beginning and ending,
something in between
the brightening and fading…
Will darkness snuff out
the ember’s optimism?
Will night's dominion tremble and, turning, retreat?
Or will radiance
reign, turning adversaries
collaborators,
co-creators conspiring
on mesmerizing murals
where water preserves
the memory of first fire?
Believing in both,
the shrouding vesper shadows
and unyielding light,
I bend to transformation 
and yielding, yielding,
embrace ambiguity.