The End Of The Day

The old Japanese Maple heaved and sighed with the gentle breeze as if breathing deep the fragrance of lilacs and brackish water as it spread its branches gloriously in the early summer sun. Long blades of grass rippled in unison like so many bedsheets on the line. The quiet interrupted only by the chatter of birds and the constant swish of cars coming and going in the distance. They sat in silence. No conversation necessary, she sipping her evening coffee, he indolently puffing on the last cigarette of the day.

Sailboats float by in the distance and the mountains on the far shoreline alternate shades of green, blue, purple, and pink from golden hour to sunset. The cat cries at the window begging me to join the dog at my feet and the delectable smell of some neighbor’s barbeque wafts invitingly toward me reminding me of dinner.

The time is perfect – just before the mosquitos come out in earnest, but after the heat of the day has abated. A lawnmower hums in the background, the dog whines to go in. She doesn’t want to leave just yet. Laying her head back she imagines away the cars and replaces them with the delicate clapping of Quaking Aspens and the plaintive cry of a loon.

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