Twilight in the Woods

Near our house there are some woods where I walk

In the evenings while the last rays slip away.

The night woods are filled with wisps of fog

And the wind whistles through the trees.

The surface of the lake stays as still as a mirror

And often I sit here, still and silent. But not tonight.

Strolling in the fading light, I see a feminine form in the fog

Beckoning and wafting along the side of the pathway.

She waits as I walk up to where she stands.

'Hello', she says in greeting. 'I've been waiting for you'.

'I know', I say, 'Why?' 'Because you've have a choice to make

'Wait a while longer, and he will come'. 'Who?' I ask.

'Him' she says, pointing to a dark shape.

I wait, still and silent while he arrives

The Grim Reaper, glaive in hand, measured tread even, heavy, portentous.

I shrink back instinctively, but the Lady gently presses me forward.

'Do not fear' says she. 'Look'. And slowly, the Grim Reaper lowers his hood

Smiling at me. And there is nothing horrific or horrible in his gaze;

He is young, and the first bloom of ephmeral youth still graces his countenance:

Unable to stop myself, I lean forward and take his hair in my hands; it's so soft, so gentle

This cannot be real. 'This is no dream', says the Lady, pressing me further into his embrace.

'He's here to take you to the world you're ready for now'. Death smells of vanilla and jasmine flowers.

Suddenly I spin around. 'I am not ready for death!' I scream, but there's no one to be sympathetic.

'Yes, you are', gently explains the Lady. 'You have known me for many lovely moments.

When we were together, you did not know it, for when you had me most you were filled with joy'.

Now Death speaks for the first time. 'Look into the lake'.

I cannot disobey his stern, but indescribably soft behest.

Looking into the still, silent lake, there's something underneath the waters.

Reaching for it, I slip smooth beneath the waves, and then I am on the other side

Only Death awaits; the Lady has taken her leave.

He offers me his hand; smiling, I slip my fingers into his

And he clasps me in his embrace; his chest feels so solid

The world seems nebulous as the only surface I sense is Death

Wafting away on whisps of wind and fog; now nothing remains save solitary woods.