Portrait of an Evening.

There's a certain kind of an evening that now and then falls over this place. A certain kind of an evening that I have gotten to know fondly in hours of strolling --alone-- just as the sun kisses the clouds where they drift in loftiness above the horizon. Warm winds pulling--playing with your clothing and hair as they gently sweep in from their hidden stores somewhere, perhaps, where the distant mountains roll themselves out into the surrounding desert.
The sun's kiss makes the clouds happy I think, because they blush all mellow and pinkish in among their moody shades of grey. They come out like embroidery against a sky of the most poignant blue, not blue-blue, but something with tints of green and yellow in it's brilliancy. Only brilliant until it meets the sky just above you, where the sombre black of night overcomes it's influence.
Black birds and sparrows (that look like black birds) against the light of sky wing their ways around from building to tree and bush to solitary benches-- frolicking almost, rather than really flying.
The moon gazes down from the darkness opposite of the horizon like a pure and holy soul in a world of sin. Beautiful, silent, but with it's own glow of joy... No, perhaps not joy per-say, more like peace. Wonderful-abiding-happy peace as it looks down and almost I can hear it say "I am content."

How can my soul help but echo this murmur of the moon as my dazzled eyes watch the evening make music around me? No people, no noise. A wholesome lack of anything but the simple beauty of the glorious creation around me. God made those clouds, God made those sparrows, God made this wind, God made the sprinkle of stars just peeking out from the shadowy sky above me.

"I am content."

On evenings like this I answer a call, not to socialize, not to study, not to work. But to stroll and stroll and stroll, and dance with a breeze and gaze upon a moon and be dazzled by a sunset.