He watched the waning light
over his garden
and took pride knowing that all the roots
went deep,
that the coming storm, predicted to be the worst
in centuries,
would not destroy
his magnum opus.
He closed his eyes and took a sip from his drink
and saw it all over again:
when he had planted the first seed,
when life first emerged from the dark soil,
when the toil of his hands brought forth first fruit,
to now, the Abenddämmerung of the gods.
A soft breath escaped from his lips and
wafted out over his garden
like a cloud before a multitude of people
lost in the desert.
It settled on a juniper bush
and sank beneath the earth,
warming the cooling roots;
A whisper of a forgotten truth rang
in the leaves of the trees
and echoed in the valley
like the cry of
a dying star.