“Conversations With Death: Midnight”

I last spoke with Death at Midnight.
There was no moon to light his way
only starlight
and the dim glow of a single fading streetlamp.
I felt the room grow cold as he walked in
all swagger and confidence
his hood drawn up to shadow his face.
He paused at the end of my bed
and looked at me
and once more he smiled.
You are not yet ready for me.
My words startled him and he cocked his head
peering into the darkness.
What do you mean? asked Death
wringing his hands uneasily.
I paused
long enough to let him wonder
how it could be
that I continue to resist him.
Then I smiled, and pointed to the open window
to the starlit sky
framed by the branches of winter-barren trees.
He followed my gaze and frowned
before turning back to question me.
What does the sky have to do with it?
I sat up then
set my feet on the floor
and I walked to stand before him.
I replied, passing by him to stand before the window.
Death visited me again
but I refused to go with him
preferring to live.
And I knew he understood.

“Rhythm of Nature”

Image I wish I'd taken, by Kenia Cris.

Image I wish I’d taken, by Kenia Cris.

New growth is blooming
shrugging off the quiet chill
opening eyes to brighter mornings
and warmer nights.

Soon comes the heat
air moist with every breath
deep groans of thunder
punctuate the night.

Moon’s arrival earlier each dusk
heralds brisk nights
and staunch guardians
shedding their colors everywhere.

A quiet chill returns swiftly and softly
blanketing both day and night
offering no respite
only the promise of renewal.

Written in a vague approximation of the Midnight Songs style, from Sunday’s Mini-Challenge prompt at With Real Toads.