Evening in the Eyrie

As evening falls on our hill
nest becomes eyrie.
We are just above
the floating mist.

We watch the street
settle down and get quiet,
the children called inside
and the cars arriving home.

Lights in the houses
go on and then off.
The streets lights
come on and remain.

The quiet cul-de-sac
goes to bed early.
Only cats and writers
are wakeful late.


#AprPAD 24 
Prompt: An evening poem.