Until the Day is Done

Every evening at around a quarter past 6 I take this walk...a little constitutional, if you will.

Through the cooling air, as the world shifts gear and the candyfloss clouds troop across the vanilla sky in their puffed up little flocks. Sometimes their bellies are heavy with rain, sometimes they're blushing rosy in the sun's last embrace.

When the song in my ears rolls to a stop, the wind whistles around my neck and the vast expanse above stares down...and I feel like a dwarf and a giant at the same time.

The hills of the town start to light up, eager for the night to come. The leaves and the long grass dance and laugh in the breeze and my shoulders feel the fingers of the evening starting to press into my skin.

But I don't leave; I like to stay until I've squeezed every last drop out of the day, until I've devoured every morsel hanging above me.

I like to stay until the day is done and the moon breathes again.