That day, sitting on a boat by the river, bedded on rocks, I came to realize what might have been mighty obvious, but in actuality is quite different.
Though it was generally cold out there, the breeze and the cold didn’t seem to bother the insects or the fish. They were at home, doing what they always do, within their respective realities, one with nature.
Hope is a strong human trait, or so I would like to believe. While on the boat, I had gone there as dusk approached. The sky dimly lit as the hills tried to hide vastly behind the creeping dark. The farthest of the hills managed to become a misty apparition and the closest hill behind which the sun was setting, stood a strong frame.
As twilight hit, it became dark enough to barely see. A last boat carrying a dimly lit oil lamp emerged in the distant horizon that was pitch black now. There was a faint sphere of fading light around the lamp. And now people had started returning to light campfires. My hopes were high that I could see the mysterious lamp and this lonely boatman for myself.
While all this transpired, the moon shone in its gentle magnificence, lighting everything. Everything was bright again, and I could make everything out in an inverse of when the sun shone. And now that I looked about, I could see everything but my hopeful lonely boat.
As twilight went out, so did my boat, but I had learnt why twilight could be as beautiful as it was. The hill that hid the sun like a bustling city at its back was still the same, and so was the misty apparition of a hill, only cooler. Everything was still the same. Nature took back its
babies and twilight had smiled upon me.
Great post! Loved the content.