It was late in the day. The dusk sought release among the unkempt leaves of the massive tree. The pale moon seemed to bide its time. The giant tree though, seemed at peace. It was home to a million insects. And a zillion emotions. Unerring to the minute, the dark cheeked nightjar flew noiseless around the foliage. It sat on the forked branch in familiar comfort, its distinctive call breaking the chaotic silence.
The ashen owl blinked. The dung beetles on the ground kept burrowing, as if in haste, for eternity’s sake. The sun was past its prime, the smooth transition almost second nature, from orange, to crimson, to green, yellow, violet and purple. A blink and miss. It was gone.
