Dusk

Geckos chirping on the wall, birds squawking as they dive and dart through the swarm of bugs recently born from the river’s edge, the distant chorus of voices in a valley church usher in the sunset. The sky, like a canvas under a master’s brush constantly changes as the sun slinks off behind the hill, taking the light and the heat of the day with it. In the coming dusk, prattle erupts from the soccer pitch down below, voices an erratic procession chase a ball in the yellow rising dust of a dying afternoon. Life creeps back with the cooling of the air. The staggering heat of the day is disappearing over the hillside. That which kept people in is fading and the sounds of evening dance between the trees to echo off the buildings that line the river valley. The rushing water, remnants of yesterday’s storm, purrs like a generator cutting deeper into the rock chasm that marks the edges of life that spills down the mountainside and towards the sea. Lights glitter in the distance mark the villages yet unexplored and trace the roads. They invite the stars to soon mirror them in the cool darkness of sky.
This sunset, both in sight and sound, was delicious enough to be the last.