A Woodland Night

My childhood ramblings were so long ago, and time obscures the traces of the past. The sun no longer burns in afterglow, but leaves a mark that always tends to last. At sundown I behold the selfsame stars, that congregate like fireflies in the dark. I still may find the russet haze of Mars. I hear the song of whippoorwill and lark. And deep within the woods on any night, I'd often stop to build a rustic fire. I'd wandered far from home without a light. The sparks that rose were offered to the briar. That is the clearest image that I see. It's like a statue someone carved in stone, where night and stars and fire would comfort me, where I might hide in peace and yet alone.