I love the evenings of quiet. Red hot coals of the fire dying out then brightening as if a breath were made upon them. My eyes still burning from the day in the sun. I keep them open as soft moonlight and darkening shadows play indistinguishable creatures peeking over the low brush and disappearing into the warm earth. I see it all as if it were a dream. . . I drift into unconsciousness to dream about dreaming in the desert. I believe. Red hot coals of the fire dying out then brightening as if a breath were made upon them. My eyes still burning from the day in the sun. . .
Saturday, February 11, 2023
Walter Feller
I love the evenings of quiet. Red hot coals of the fire dying out then brightening as if a breath were made upon them. My eyes still burning from the day in the sun. I keep them open as soft moonlight and darkening shadows play indistinguishable creatures peeking over the low brush and disappearing into the warm earth. I see it all as if it were a dream. . . I drift into unconsciousness to dream about dreaming in the desert. I believe. Red hot coals of the fire dying out then brightening as if a breath were made upon them. My eyes still burning from the day in the sun. . .
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