Member-only story
Evening Sun
A Soul Awakes
There is a redness about the sun
if I catch it at the right moment
when it hangs low in the blueness.
In the quietness, a brightness almost blinding
ignites memories of other evenings
in a warmer climate zone.
Roads, lit up, contrast flattened shadows,
graphite etchings of boxed-in buildings
and flickering trees.
Burnished by the sun’s rays, cars sparkle
metallic gems, softening their foray
as they disappear restlessly into the distance.
And in the square the basilica,
sprinkled with natural light —
golden — summons to reflect, if not pray.
Everything seems so clean — no, pristine —
so buoyant, so sanguine.
Gone the bleak, the blasé, left the melodic.
And though it is the dusk we await,
it is the twilight dawning of the sun
in the late evenfall that my soul awakes.