Yestermorn, in the still- night dark of the very early morning in which we drive into town now that winter has arrived,
Crossing the blueberry muskeg lowlands past the creek before the river,
There was a patch of a brightly irridescent curtain dancing in the sky above the hill.
Yesternight, in the dark night of the very late evening in which we drove home after a band rehearsal,
Coming up the hill to the homestead,
There were bridges of magic light crossing and recrossing the sky, moving on ly ever so slightly.