I do some of my best writing at sunset. Right at the crescendo of the afternoon, when the sky shifts into a new balance of colors and the whole earth seems to glow. To listen, then, for the hum of magic in the air, so delicate, delightful. To witness, then, the energy surge that makes the edges of things a bit brighter, even as the light fades. The dying gasp of day. To pluck from the vacuum whorl the words that have been lingering at my lips all day. What solace escapes on a sigh, as the fresh dusk settles over me.
Jo Meijer is a novelist, essayist and occasional poet. This is her first foray onto the web, and therefore it will be brief.
(See, I told you.)