A Dream at Dusk

An audience waits for the sun to make a final appearance of the day, but it seems reluctant to take the stage. It peeks from behind the curtain in the wings.

The warm stone supports me where I lay in the sky. Magnesium pinpricks of white dance in front of my eyes. Wavy ribbons of cloud cover the bluebird dome in repeating patterns. There is a scent of pine sap and sand and sunlight. A breeze pushes over the rock urged by the oncoming night.

With closed eyes I duskdream about possibilities. What was and what is overlap. The circle doesn’t close.  Yet.

My shoulders melt into the sandstone and my mind wanders, my spirit soars down the gorge and into the past. The gritty bed under my head roots me in the present.

Unseen, the sun slips closer to the horizon. I’ve no light for the coming darkness; I should work my way back down into the world I came from. Turn my truck toward home. Wind along the river and back to town.

Punk music chases me as I chase the fading daylight. The windows are down and hair whips in my eyes. I don’t need to see to drive these roads. They’re like the lines on the palm of my hand. I don’t need to see to know where I am.