One does not know how it all ends. But it does so every evening at half past six.
I like the light at sunset. I turns the canvas into shades of pink and violet and sends the birds scurrying back to their nests back somewhere over the horizon. They never seem to settle down somewhere nearby.
Yet there is a mystery. Some kind of deep foreboding that things are going become very dark soon. Sure makes me uncertain which way to go. But soon there is light. The streets are full of light…hey stop, stop. I get up from the kerb where I fell and move to the safety of the sidewalk. The lights were coming straight for me. Two of them.
Sunset has disappeared. So have the birds. I guess they were not disturbed by the lights and made it to their nests without any trouble. They were flying too high. Wonder how they raised their nests up so high. That too in the dark.
So, that is the way with sunset lights and birds that nest in the trees up high. They always disappear in the dark. I sat up one night and tried to watch them. There was no moon and I soon fell asleep. I think they had some help with the nest.
I try to think of what these birds do when some birds come back to the nest the next day. Do they have a spare nest nearby? Or do they sit out on the branches and try not to fall off?
I wish somebody will throw some light on the matter. My heart goes out to the birds in the nests under the sunset lights. Maybe I should have made this into a poem.