It is dusk, but the darkest kind.
There is rich grass backed by the spires of evergreens, framed in precisely outlined clouds.
It is dusk.
The daylight whispers goodbye in a feathered sky.
The air is sweet and still....sweet country air.
They run by.
Chasing the prize of a firefly. Or two.
It is dark.
But what a treasure....
a night, still and sweet
spiced by the sound of children laughing
when they catch their prize.