Walkabout

A city at dusk becomes almost human. Almost a woman. Almost maternal. Her heart softens as the receding sun blurs sound and dampens movement. Light silently strokes surface’s contour, like a caress but passing. She seems obligingly stunned those last thirty minutes of the day — as if in a filmy pause. Sporadic bird calls out the shift from day’s warmth to night’s huddle. And indigo signals black’s drowning blue.

I like to walk, observe and not think in this space. From tonight's walkabout: