Whispers of Hesperides

I find myself alone when I enter the hushed house
surprised into stillness by the emptiness.
Suspended I linger long enough to hear
the Hesperides whisper to me from the west
in shades of chilled rose and silver lavender 
from their low slung home in the sunsetting sky.

I attend the nymphs of twilight 
who turned their pinks to purple just now 
while I was watching
though I did not see it.
How can something so slow go unseen? 

I wait, I watch, as violets chase greys 
inhale golds and exhale brand new blues
in a symphony that enchants air and light into night 
with such enthralling alchemy.

This windfall of time, like this leap day of February,
is a space I do not fill.
Instead I still with these last and loveliest rays
of a perfectly normal, perfectly precious day
and expand into something that is already formless.

If I had come home to a family in motion
I might have joined in their rhythm,
surely mentioned the stunning sky,
but likely missed the gift of
the Hesperides’ soft pastel enticement
to step outside into this February present and
savor their sundown sonata in silence.