Last night I watched the sun setting behind the pines that cover the hilly horizon. I do this a lot but I was particularly tired last night so I pulled up a chair and sat down. The limbs of the ancient trees were illuminated by the deepest red glow, with streaks or dark oranges and yellows, which slowly faded into a faint glow in the tree tops.
The glow lingered as the twilight deepened, and a few fireflies flickered across the field. The breeze so welcome during the hot afternoon, brought with it a distinct chill as It stirred the curtains, they floated briefly and returned to their place. I moved my chair closer to the window so I could watch as night overtook what little remained of a very full day. Lights were coming on across the valley, but my house remained dark. Lost in the revelry of nearly 7 decades of July memories. The sweet scent of summer grasses hung heavy in the air.
Somewhere in the disorganized filing cabinet of my mind I recalled this poem.
