SLICES OF SUNSET
The bugs aren't too bad. Usually this early in the season they would swarm in great buzzing black clouds around anything with a pulse. For whatever reason though, they aren't too bad tonight. One or two slaps around the neck and knees and one persistent droning in the ear, but altogether not bad.
I stand by the lake, listening to the water as it gently laps up against the pollen yellowed shoreline. The water makes a hollow thudding sound against the aluminum hull of the rowboat. In the distance, the mournful cry of a loon rises up to greet the coming night, a haunted song of loss that is somehow beautiful in its melancholy.
The sky is painted in slices of orange, pink, and magenta; even to the north at the far end of the lake.
I am used to being in the city where the constant him of traffic overlaps everything else. Out here is different though. It is so quiet and peaceful that you can almost hear the silence settling into the trees.
I see the first star of the night slowly winking awake and make a quick wish. I know it will never come true, I will eventually need to leave this place once more, but for now at least I will pretend that I have found my Elysium on the shores of this lake and that the slices of sunset above will forever light the gloaming skies.
The loon calls out again, lamenting the inevitable, and I reply with a smile, warm and sincere, happy to be sharing this moment.
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