Brilliant and gold, the short grass glowed a fiery orange in the fading evening sun. The stump of a dead tree, its roots still stretched out in a vain attempted to maintain its grip upon this world, unaware that it too would fade as the day’s light. A beautiful and miniature moment that is repeated daily, uneventful and warrants no special praise, but for me that only adds to its beauty. I stood alone in a vacant field with, my breath on the wind and color in the air, and I watched as the events unfolded. The events though, would have transpired anyways and my presence in the vacant field did not matter, it was coincidental. The gold grew thick and viscous in front of my eyes and a snapshot from this minute would look different from the next. I waited until the blue of the night crept in and slowly leaked and seeped its way in through the cracks in the amber air. The roots of the night, digging their way across the sky. They grab a hold at twilight, but like the stump below me they too will eventually have to relinquish their grip in the morning.
I took alone in the vacant field at sunset and wondered when will my morning be?