Friday, January 18, 2008

Dusk

Bobbing amidst the incoming tide, trying to cool down after another scorcher, watching the horizon cloud over.

Fingers of light curl over the cloud, trying to snatch at the final fragments of the dying day. The pink horizon gradually fades to a soft purple, and then to the muted blue of night.

Day is done.

3 comments:

jellyhead said...

I love there Friday 55-ers.... so succinct and poised and evocative.

Hope you're resting and recovering well this weekend.

Janie said...

Beautiful...

In_spired said...

I can almost 'feel' the on-coming of night from your words.

This is more than 55 Flash Fiction...it is poetry!