The hour arrives when dusk's
golden glow begins to fade,
and the world turns gray.
As if on signal, the last birds
leave, and the yard goes as silent
as a playground after recess.

Yet there remains between
the gray of dusk and black
of night an interlude
when a few lingering divas,
behind curtains of foliage,
sing arias for an audience
they do not know is there.

Then it is dark, and bullfrogs
begin belching love calls
from the pond, crickets
start jingling tiny bells
in the woods and lightning bugs
flash their little lanterns
as they spread out in the yard
like a search party
probing the darkness,
leading us to discover
what we didn't know we'd lost.