The scent of darkness
|Just before the dark.|
I went for a walk this evening. Just at the end of dusk, when the sunset was still a faint glow in the west. It's a well-lighted neighbourhood, safe enough to walk alone but dark enough to make one feel isolated. A glorious loneliness.
And the scents. A whiff of cigar smoke. Somebody's lawn, freshly mown. Somebody's lawn, overgrown and full of the fragrance of clover. From somewhere hidden, the sharp sweet scent of roses. A bright, herby smell, and from across the street, whiffs from a kitchen.
And then the sounds. The constant hum of crickets and cicadas. The occasional croak of a frog. Somewhere far away, the slam of a car door. The whir of a bat, not far overhead. Everywhere the whisper of evening breeze.
The world is so beautiful, even in the darkness.