The Indigo Hour

It is the indigo hour.
Skies almost night.
The last of the birds singing.
In the distance, an owl, waking.
The sun behind the mountain.
The air suddenly cool.

A melancholy hour.
Gentle sadness.
Dinah Shore singing Mood Indigo Blues
as you sip your glass of amber,
grateful for the day.

About this poem.

inspired by a painting I finished yesterday. Originally I had another title for it, but this title, of the poem, has lingered with me all day, so I changed the name of the painting too.

It’s OK to change your mind.

Tom