His shadow led him as he walked away from evening.
Turning to catch the falling of the sun, the path of his life was clear, scuffed through the grass of experience and forgotten lovers.
He turned away again and closed his heart. Forward, always forward, until the end.
clouds chalk lines in the sky blue sky
the wind has dropped but the palms still sway
the birds are silent
and now the sky is grey
traffic lockdown light
pavements glisten as night falls
her eyes sparkle bright
Afternoon evening
Thoughts jumping back and forward
Where were, shall we be?
Wind-kicked leaves, red and golden, drift slowly down to autumn bed. The sinking sun touches horizon trees, is laced with branches and leaves us, leaves us a fire-shot sky of evening.
The houses call us – no, not the houses, home, the shelter. Hand in hand, our backs to the dying in the distance, we fade away to deeper darkness.
The sun touches the horizon, soon to vanish.
The warm air still allows half-nakedness in the shade.
Dust and people settle for the evening.
Daybreak makes my day;
the lowering of the winter evening brings a soft end to the struggle.
Then dreams until they are broken.
simonsalento 