When the moon faces the sinking sun…
There is a whiff of autumn, no cicada’s.
Twilight winds nudge the leaves, the trees murmur as I walk the neighborhood. I should have been somewhere else tonight, but duty called. Duty talks louder than trees, but trees are more honest.
A sprinkler irrigates an immaculate lawn. Its spray, back lit by the sun, reveals summer nights from a thousand years ago. It is all there – a father shooting hoops with his son, tended gardens of late summer, the rattle of a shaking spray paint can and the rev of a young man’s truck. A peerless summer night, now and then.
That is the secret of twilight, and why I like it best – it is in between, now and then, life and its reflection – when the moon faces the sun.
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