South end of Canandaigua Lake, Bare Hill and Vine Valley, looking toward Canandaigua, New York

JUNE EVENING

Its evening on the farm,

The sounds of day are still;

Down by the woodland pasture

There calls a ship-poor-will.

(Actually beyond Sennett’s at Bristol Springs)

The trees beyond the gate,

Back giants of the night; (The Park)

With dense and inky mass

Shut all the north from sight.

A little mother owl

Must have a home nearby;

Her fuzzy furry brood

Wake up with dismal cry.

There’s one upon our house

(He also came down on the porch later.)

Exploring with big eyes;

A silent little ball

Outlined against the skies.

In darkened fields around

Are tiny flashing lights;

Wee firefly decorations

Of calm sweet summer nights.

The low melodious music

Of gentle evening’s breeze

Is whispered softly downward

From tops of rustling trees.

The daylight world’s asleep;

The farmers are in bed.

My thoughts to God I turn

By evening’s magic led.

Tonight God seems so near

I almost touch His hand.

There’s mystery in God,

More than I understand.

Photo above: Source – From the personal postcard collection of B. J. Johanningmeier