Afternoon evening
Thoughts jumping back and forward
Where were, shall we be?
Evening
Wind-kicked leaves
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
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
Daybreak makes my day;
the lowering of the winter evening brings a soft end to the struggle.
Then dreams until they are broken.
