The day begins to settle down and take it easy.
The sidewalk slows down and the sounds and voices of the day disappear.
The dimly lit inside becomes the day of the night.
Street lights become strong and powerful against the developing black trees washing to and fro in the darkroom of the night.
People walk, talk or just think in their cocoons. They take off their glasses pulling all the world out of focus and talk of - nothing.
The clouds take on a final hint of darkest blue from way up there in the sky where it is still day, but out of sight regardless of whether you have your glasses on or not.
The last shopkeeper gets ready to close down.
In the forest the silence is stunning. Nothing alive makes a noise and your death makes no sound in the dark.
There is a constant tension about city life, even sitting down and relaxing has a tension.
How far do you have to go before you can sit on an outcrop of rock south of Herat and north of Qandahar and watch the dust devils moving slowly across the empty plain.
How long can you sit there thinking of the beginning of time.
Can you hear a guitar or is it just the silence sweeping across the single ribbon of road.
Can you see a young woman in front of you, hands on her hips, making a stand. Looking so good. The silence dances through her long flowing hair and she is gone.
Only the dust devils remain, and the road, yes always the road, still heading for something good.
a forest in Oregon
You feel time washing away down the hill through the small green plants and lichens of the forest floor.
Sunlight comes pouring through the trees tumbling onto the ground cascading down the hill chasing the morning off into the valley.
All around is quietness.
The sound of the earth growing old.