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. . .