The orange light of nature’s traffic lane. Evening is the tune of addiction. Who hates an evening? It’s a flash in the pan before all is covered with a black blanket. A cathedral of pre-retirement. The bed of young rainbows. The lain of infatuation.
Flocks of hymning birds trespassing the kingdom of sky with stubborn spirit, sips of coffee with whips of thick cream, tubs of peppery popcorn with naughty aroma, vapors of infectious playfulness whirling the little parks and playgrounds, the army of roadside assortment of eateries squealing their larynx out, the sight of a an ordinary human returning back from a hard day’s work, the evening is a precious environment.
Evening is otherworldly. The lumbar bone of the day. A moment when you switch from day light to dark night. Things which define the day refrain the knock of evening, but to gradually succumb to the hypnotic hymns that reverberate in the evening’s soul. The lilt of the reddened sun seeks shelter in the broad wings of evening, and tranquility starts floating. Watch the evening and forget yourself.