More than half a moon sliced the sky,
Orange, probably harboring smoke.
The air was silky summer air,
Leftovers from a scorcher of a day.
I don't think midnight is the witching hour,
It is the time you stop to notice.
Notice all the cats laying soaking up
Remnants of the long summer day.
And more than magical to notice
A mantis on the front door,
Another on the steps.
To pause and listen to the night,
And taste the magic.
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