T'was Brillig

This time of day is no-man’s-land.
Not the morning
nor the evening
Not the high noon
nor the afternoon
Not lunch
Not dinner
Not naptime
nor closing time

The dew has long dried on the daisy
The sun is well beyond the yardarm

It isn’t on the schedule.
Not even the stomach can claim it

But you know it.

The mind’s subtle and sometimes defiant turn
from the day toward evening

Tiny flashes nibble at the corners of thoughts

Thoughts
of dinner
of chores
and home
with all its responsibilities
and delights
and eventual stillness
that stillness that we both crave and fear

That moment is all we get as prep
for our second act
And then it is underway.