Half Past Six

The tangy grey of dusk lulls the cacophony around us. It’s soft orange peaks play gently with our hair, twirling it around and pulling it into pigtails.

The crickets hold court, a tractor engine roars, a rusty seesaw creaks with childlike joy; machines whir, coffee berries are stripped naked; a noisy tray belies it’s clinking tea glasses and a million thoughts are sent as quiet sighs into the air.

The brick in-lay has made the soles of my feet red, and the moisture kisses the tips of my fingers.

The teatime chatter spreads it’s wings and gently nudges my shoulder. I turn it away and sit cross-legged, waiting.

I watch grey turn to darker grey and finally to black.

And I realize, in the deepest parts of my stomach, I do not want it to end.

4 thoughts on “Half Past Six

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