Ode to an Orange Sky Sunset 1

The orange sky leans low on Portsmouth’s hush,
Where evening gathers breath along the creek.
Scott Creek reflects a molten, patient blush,
As daylight fades, too tired now to speak.

The water holds the sun in broken glass,
Each ripple bending fire into calm.
The docks stand still as minutes slowly pass,
While salt and shadow mingle like a psalm.

Old homes along the banks keep quiet watch,
Their windows warmed by last departing flame.
The heron lifts itself from reed and notch,
And writes its signature upon the flame.

A breeze moves through the marsh with softened feet,
It cools the heat the sky can barely spare.
The day releases all it cannot keep,
And leaves its orange blessing in the air.

When night arrives, it does not break the spell;
That glow still hums where water learns to dream.
In Portsmouth’s heart, the sunset pauses well,
Then slips to rest within the darkened stream.