rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


The long evenings are the best of summer days, when earth and sky gradually dim, the soil gives up its stored heat to a softened air to be carried away by those breezes which gently stir the flaccid leaves back to life. Torpor gives way to a languid arousal, and the world is like a cat stretching itself after a long nap. The colors of the roses, though muted by the fading light, seem more intense for a while, from contrast with their gentled surroundings. This is the time for lawn sprinklers, when the sun's evaporative rays have been concealed, and the drifting clouds of their mist now scent the evening, and their falling drops echo the vanished showers of spring. In a while, the colors of the roses will drain away, and the austere blossoms will be softly lit by the waxing crescent of summer's first moon. Until then, the long gloaming of midyear will be filled with the last bird songs and the first flutter of moth wings, and this luminous lavender sky.

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