Strong black silhouettes rooted to land in happy slumber, stretch into mottled-metal sky. For this is twilight. This is the hour when dreaming begins, when thoughts turn from the mundane to the magical, ready to write their wish-lists to the Santa of the night.
Twilight sings its sweet lullaby to the hues of the daylight so that they may rest with starlit dreams.
In twilight the beach was tinted sepia, the sand more orange, the water a deeper hue, our skin soft to the eye. We sat there, Tara to my left, Leon to my right, just taking in the evening and chatting in our characteristic pattern, the laughs and the serious intermingled.
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