They call it Superstition.

Aptly named, I think.

It hides not its many moods—

Sometimes it’s dark and brooding,

sometimes red and burning,

sometimes black and angry,

sinister and dangerous.

Shadows move across it

like ancient armies in formation.

It is always there…

a fortress beyond my window.


I see it in the morning

as the sun creeps up behind it.

I watch its color change

throughout the day

until, at last,

with a smoldering rosy glow

it blends into the night.


©Vi Jones

October 13, 2006