The quiet of soft evening light, a weary sun settling in for a night’s respite—
or so it appears to this sun stalker:
And I gaze without staring
into this molten light as it arranges its robes and settles into the darkening hills,
leaving gold-laced fingerprints on the clouds behind.
I breathe the quiet.
And it feels good to be here—just me and the coyotes.
But it’s over too soon,
and I return to the real world before the black night falls.