Late Walk

[rejectomorph]

Spring is the perfect time of year for evening walks. I watch the detail vanish from the world as the sky turns deeper blue and the first bright stars appear. The slow chirps of crickets come from the shadowy places in the woods and fields. The evening retains the scent of day, the perfumes of flowers and the resins coaxed from the pine trees by the sun's warmth, but there is also that hint of damp as moisture condenses in the cooling air. Lights come on in houses, and my footsteps seem louder in the gathering dark, as I have the street to myself. The town is engaged in business of its own, and has no time to observe the dusk. The evening belongs only to me.