On the same spot where I stand each night.  Twilight falls across the meadow.  Once again:  Turning toward the western horizon, but this time the sun has nearly slipped from sight.  Her rays settle into a dusky crown, shimmering in the clouds and kissing the far edges of the trees rising over the levee.

My legs hold steady as I raise the phone to capture the night sky.  Then I let my hand rest on the car door, sweater dangling into the dust.  Sounds of a neighbor’s dinner party drift through her window, laughter and soft music.  A cool breeze dances across my deck.  The windchimes lend their voice to the evening’s soundtrack.  

I stopped at an open studio after I closed the shop.  I admired the art; met the artist; chatted with other guests.  I watched the darkness begin to gather and decided that I should make my way home.  One of the hostesses walked me outside.  Before I left, she asked if I was doing well.  I could but smile.  “I have only first world problems,” I assured her.  She nodded.  “No bombs falling on my village; no active and creeping diseases; enough money, food on the table, work to do.”  We stood on the sidewalk in front of the studio that she shares with her wife.  She knew what I meant.  Nothing more needed to be said.

All good.

Mugwumpishly tendered,

Corinne Corley

The Missouri Mugwump®

Twilight