When evening slips slowly into night and twilight envelopes the city, especially after a warm spring day, there is a certain magic to life. The evening symphony of colour hints at the possibility of a pleasure filled dusk, the expectation, even, of something more to be gotten out of this well-worn day.. With the long hours done, there still remains a window of opportunity, a glimpse of a mystical something to make an average day better, a bad day count.
Dawn, perhaps, is more optimistic, shoeing the new day in, fresh and clean, full of the promise of success and joy, the chance to make a difference. But twilight has its unique magic of it’s own, cleverer still, more precious.
The sky, a multitude of colours- indigo, grey, white, bright here, dark there, is blazing and brilliant. The rest of the world becomes a start black against the performance of the evening heavens. The city lights wait their turn to shine. Cars, buses, and trams are distinguishable only by their headlamps, not their colour or brand.
People, too, are shapes and huddles. Outlined, walking solo head bowed to get home, or arms linked in easy company. People everywhere, made anonymous and brilliant by the fading light.
The city hums as the early evening traffic swells. With the traffic, noise, people, travel, the quiet calm of the dawn is missing. This magic is a different kind. People rush home to their families; lovers stroll to a date, anxiety and anticipation in equal balance. The busy pedal furiously, the care-free cycle absent mindedly, heading to wherever is calling.
Twilight is rolling in, the day is no longer young, but it is not over either. There is hope in the fading light, alive and well pulling us towards the magical night.