I know this sounds totally unpoetic, but I can't help myself because it was my first thought upon finishing this poem: It's like Shakespeare and Frost had a baby, and that baby is this poem. Or maybe it's not *quite* like that because of course this poem, like all of your poems, has a distinct "Ben" feel to it. You've dissected the classics, learned from them, and shaped them into your own, producing your own timeless approach to poetry. You are immensely talented, friend. You breathe life into the bones of classic forms. We're fortunate to have your work on PnQ!
I am moved by this as I often find myself out and about way beyond the close or before the start of the regular day, and you do get an eerie sense of pagan spirits walking with you as Mother Nature prepares the world for the next season.