The Evening

IMG_20150307_200544There is a promise in the air just at sunset, in the piles and piles of coils of smoke, from the days burning- so thick, you can almost feel little black particles in the air you breathe in- there is a promise of something out there beyond- somewhere, something, a longing, a wanting, a knowing of something somewhere, waiting, only we just don’t know yet-
A sadness-
There is a hidden excitement, a rush of adrenaline, a feeling of knowing you are watched, and of being like a floating bubble on a float, or in the sky, at sunset.
There’s a feeling of something indescribable- if only we could just see- beyond. If only that curtain would be pushed aside- you can almost see it- if you longed hard enough-maybe it could move-maybe you could see-
There is a thing about dinner parties on the lawn in the evening- there is a feeling that that almost unquenchable desire for that something-beyond- that exists in all of us humans- that we always seem to be looking for- will somehow manifest in the laughter, perfume, lights, glittering smells, elderly gentlemen digressing about politics, ladies on mysteries, children- on games and how they won’t be friends anymore until the next second has ticked by-
And a few of them on what lays beyond- beyond that last blue gate, just before darkness swings down- beyond the sunset, beyond the skies- just a bit of what it would be like to pluck clouds like oranges & eat them like pears- feel it, just a little, some of them-
And so we fool ourselves and party, hoping to quench that unquenchable wanting- looking in all sorts of things, trying to find it, seeking somehow the answer to that hidden last final first ever mystery.
That Promise.
Sunrises are full of comfort, sunsets full of smoke..
Inside the little red flower petals? In the scratches of the white white tree? In the crunching of the dead leaves, that are always there all year round? Under the erasers at the back of the purple shop- inside the car-shaped sharpeners? Under the pot lids on the stove before dinner-inside the fridge-deep, deep inside? Under the dark mirey lake? Only we never had the courage to jump in… In the train window, under the car seats? Over the last branch of the tree and then there’s just ‘open sky’ (The Gloamglozer, by Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell)…?
Seeking inside outside, wishing, lying, feeling, so profoundly,
That the words come out superficial &shallow & repetitive & a lite sad & a little mad.
The late evening wind blows in the last of that promise, the end of its wailing, scrawling, skirling, shanty cry for us, chanting, shouting, the lost sad sigh, as it withdraws into its cage, leaving a faint smell of burning, and a whisper that it tried- tried- yet we didn’t notice-
Maybe it would be here tomorrow.
Maybe it would be here again.
Maybe people will see it in all its truth and all its promise, and maybe they’ll sit and cry-
Cry for that last Curtain to be lifted
For that final promise to be revealed.
*Some freedom has been taken with the English Language 🙂

About theshadowsofthenight

An amateur writer and amateur artist :)
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