At Drop of Dusk

twilight fell     silently

 

and sadly

 

out of the sky

 

.

.

.

 

-- Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Blithedale Romance (1852)

 

[For further glimpses of the twilight time, try this:

http://worldofdrjustice.blogspot.com/2020/07/nightfall.html ]

Sick Okie (fixin’ t’ die)

her eyes        wide        and  bright

-- John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath (1939)

Okies on the Run (Impending Weather)

 nervous as horses     before a thunderstorm

-- John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath (1939)

The Creation of Eden

le  premier  soleil   sur le  premier  matin

-- Charles Péguy, Eve

Subsequent manifestations:

By this time, the eastern sky  was gorgeous with light

-- Hamlin Garland, A Son of the Middle Border (1917)

Even before the sun gave light, dead day was creeping  from bush to bush,  watching man.

-- Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937)

the washed-out, bird-bedeviled dawn

-- T.  Coraghessan Boyle,  World’s End (1987), p. 17

Intruding Light

She woke up in time to see this sun sending up spies ahead of him  to mark out the road through the dark.  He peeped up over the door-sill of the world  and made a little foolishness with red.  But pretty soon, he laid all that aside, and went about his business  dressed all in white.

-- Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937)

A thin needle of sunshine

came probing in

between the drawn curtains.

-- Aldous Huxley, Point Counter Point (1928), p.  240

Light upon White

low-hung, blazing,  the stars light the sky,

and over the diamond-dusted snow-crust

the  moon beams       splinter.

-- Hamlin Garland, A Son of the Middle Border (1917)

Okies Roasting a Rabbit over a Campfire

the  evening   bats

flashed into the fire-light

and out again

-- John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath (1939)

T-T-T-Time Monostich

a big grandfather clock  offered us

the slow ,      small,

in-di-vid-u-al   pellets   of

time .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .  

-- Robert Penn Warren, All the King’s Men (1946), p. 43

[A few pages later in the novel, that pithy abstract characterization  is fleshed out in its impact on the narrator’s consciousness:]

The grandfather’s clock, I suddenly realized, wasn’t getting any younger.  It would drop out a tick, and the tick would land inside my head  like a rock dropped in a well,

and the ripples would circle out and stop,

and the tick would sink down in the dark.

For a piece of time which was not long or short,

and might not even be time,

there wouldn’t be

an-y-thing…

Then the tock would drop  down the well,

and the ripples would circle out  and finish.