Twilight Reflections

Twilight is ending, the sky turning to dark purple with hints of the cerulean that was mostly echoes reflected in memories; that instant of magic when day is done but night is still a flicker away. And now that instant’s gone.

The lamplight grows brilliant, dancing over polished wood and kissing the faces of books long read but never forgotten; friends laid to rest within for when next I need them, their characters silently asleep, or so I think; a good time for melancholy.

A cat sits silently brooding on the padded arm of a couch in a den, or perhaps he’s just speculating on a new trend in feline philosophy, or, perhaps he’s just messing with me, probably the latter.

He acts as though he knows something I’d like to know, maybe even something I need to know, or, perhaps he’s just messing with me. Yep, … I’m pretty sure it’s the latter. … I think.

The lamplight grows brilliant, dancing over polished wood and kissing the faces of books long read but never forgotten; friends laid to rest within for when next I need them, their characters silently asleep, or so I think; a good time for melancholy.

Twilight is ending, the sky turning to dark purple with hints of the cerulean that was mostly echoes reflected in memories; that instant of magic when day is done but night is still a flicker away. And now that instant’s gone.
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2013; all rights reserved