Be still in the gloaming and see the vapours that rise from the warm earth. They rise as breath, as if the earth has run out of it at the end of the long day. If you look carefully you will see the breast of the land rise and fall with every breath. She is spent, and will need to pause to catch her breath. The cover of the dark night gives her refuge, she will renew. The dark shadows that lengthen so, making her look layered – not wrinkled, never wrinkled – will all be erased in the night. As if the darkness of the night will carry it all with it when it leaves in the morning.
You will see her again at dawn looking all fresh and dewy eyed, as if she had never seen a day before. Innocence waiting for her moment to come. Little does she know that the sun can be harsh and unmoving – so much so that she will barely be able to utter her pleas for relief. Or that the day might bring clouds and rain. Rain that could lash her mercilessly leaving rivers of tears flowing down every crevice. She does not seem to know that it could all be what it was for every day that came before her, a sameness, a dullness that beat her down in the end.
This Day does not fear anything. She stands there as if the stars were still reflected in her eyes and not long gone, abandoning her to other lights. She stands as if the morning was her friend – not a treacherous pimp who would hand her over to the elements. She does not wait though. She moves gently, quietly, almost purposefully past morning. As if the morning meant nothing to her after all. She had bigger fish to fry at noon. Noon was not her friend either. Standing tall and superior, making even shadows look small. They shrunk to nothingness when faced with the arrogance of Noon. No matter, like all arrogance, it could only last a moment and it was past. Day looked at it calmly, and Noon was gone. Calmly, this Day took on the afternoon till it was spent. And then chased down the cool evening, playing with it till she was out of breath.
Till gloaming come. Then she could breathe, and with every rising breath she released a bit more of herself. So she could be free again.