Now is the time of Day.
By. R.E. bertlow
Now is the time of day when the Birds sing there final arias and odes to the day.
They dance the final dance and take one more curtain call as the sun fades behind the mountain to end the final scene.
One last burst of light reflecting off of silvery clouds that nestle like pillows amongst the mountains
Pillows directing the last bit of light upward pinkining the clouds higher still yet.
One last burst of color. One last surprise. The Grand Finally.
The beauty?, every show different. Every show vibrant. Mother Nature as always in fine form.
Now is the time of day when quite settles in. When the scenic beauty fades to charcoal gray all blending in subtle hues to illusive to catch to tempting not to try.
The faintest pink whisper like a fading ostrich plume The subtle pale grays that fade and blend to soon leaving a muddled color that blends and twist into darkness. The final remnants of the dusk beauty erased.
The last aria and ode. The last pirouette, the last jazzed hand of the day has been performed and now makes way for the night timers and the subtle music of their world.