Evening sun (Pastels)


Day 60.

Evening sun, shadows on the page, the blinds across my hand noir like.

The day, a day, what a thing.

How much it holds, how far it reaches if one really cares to observe it.

Peace now. Light dancing on the leaves creates the appearance of movement.

I’m here once more with my familiar the singing fridge.

My trusted companion and round the clock sentinel of four years standing.

Late afternoon.

The last of the summers offering.

I can feel the mood shifting.

Cogs of change turning.

Hormones alternating in a slow quiet fashion as my evening self clocks in.


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