The Shining Dusk

Isn’t ‘dusk’ an odd word? It makes me think of ‘duck’. First sentence and I’m already going off topic. Crud. The Sun, our lifeline, our light, our heat; in a sense, our God. For me, the best, no wait let me rephrase that, the most flagrant display of that singular power comes when it goes down and the world prepares to go to sleep.

Now I could use the dawn as an example, but I’m not going to because let’s face it, I don’t often see the Sun rise for the simple reason that I like to sleep. On the other hand, since I don’t go to bed at 6 pm (or 10, or 12, or whatever) I do see it set. During vacation I’m sluggish during the day and it’s only around 5 when I feel the bite and crispness return to the air [what a strange turn of phrase don’t you think? It makes me want to eat air. Unfortunately it doesn’t taste like much, I just tried some] that my body jumps into action and I have to accomplish everything I wanted to do during the day in a few short hours.

I then start running around like the mad procrastinator that I am, scaring the cat to death and provoking the dog into chasing after me. Oftentimes I get my family to come out and toss a football or a baseball around just before my time runs out. No don’t worry I’m not planning on dying or anything, but once we’re shrouded in gloom the bugs come out and the general mood drastically lowers. When the world around starts sparkling and the moon, as small as a sugar ball (great, now I’m hungry again) appears in the darkening sky, we know we only have a few more moments left.

So we play until the Sun disappears over the horizon, taking the light and the warmth with it. In a matter of minutes a flashlight is needed to get back to the house safely without trampling one of Daddy’s precious plants (for which we would be, quite literally, never forgiven). A chill permeates the air and Lucy, who usually hangs around while we play, being a weirdly social cat, blends into her surroundings and becomes nothing more than a speck of darkness. On second thought she may just have chameleon-like powers.

When I was little I learned that when there was a beautiful sunset with lots of mingling colors that cast a glorious light over our house; Santa’s elves were hard at work. Here in the countryside we are often awarded these brilliant light shows, so I considered myself to be a lucky little girl, and would always wish all of the elves well. HA! So naïve was I… now that I’m older and wiser, I can clearly see that the elves work insanely long hours and that Santa Claus is (most probably) breaking the law by making them work so late. Not so sweet and innocent now, eh Santa?

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: please forgive me if this post doesn’t reflect my usual cheerful self today, you should know that I’m writing for the perspective of a heartbroken Mets fan who spent a good deal of her night alternating in between uncontrollable sobs and bursts of anger at the whole Matt Harvey situation. *says a whole lot of bad words*

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