The blue light fell at the end of the day, washing greens to their softest hue and raising purple’s to their most vivid. Even the clouds that had been white an hour before were an enchanting steel blue. With the golds of the dawn and midday banished, all that was left was for the sky to wash black and herald the return of the moon. So we sat there, Earnest and me, feeling the cooling air that ran the valley floor, resting our limbs and feeling our heads prepare for a dream-filled slumber.
Strong black silhouettes rooted to land in happy slumber, stretch into mottled-metal sky. For this is twilight. This is the hour when dreaming begins, when thoughts turn from the mundane to the magical, ready to write their wish-lists to the Santa of the night.
Twilight sings its sweet lullaby to the hues of the daylight so that they may rest with starlit dreams.
In twilight the beach was tinted sepia, the sand more orange, the water a deeper hue, our skin soft to the eye. We sat there, Tara to my left, Leon to my right, just taking in the evening and chatting in our characteristic pattern, the laughs and the serious intermingled.
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