Disappearing dusk

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It’s already begun.

No longer evening, not quite night. I’m in the space in between where the sun gives one last push of brilliance before disappearing completely; a final flourish as the curtain comes down.

Colours grow sharper and the shadows on the grass below lie elegant, long. They seem to stretch out to forever.

I glance up just as a plane full of people powers higher and higher into the sky and sweeps away from City Airport, climbing further from the ground with every second. Soon we will all just look like ants.

The light is changing.

The window is closing and everything that was bathed in a hyper-real glow is starting to fade.

This is the end. And also the beginning.

I wonder about tomorrow. I wonder about the many things it holds gently in its hands for me and how with every sunset, we imperceptibly change.

The air is getting cooler now and I briefly consider going inside to grab my blue jumper when something stops me. The edge of Canary Wharf is suddenly illuminated with my personal sunset. It happens most evenings and only ever lasts for a few minutes, but every single time, I’m awe-struck.

Filling my lungs fill with air, a wave of hope washes over me as I realise how much potential there is within each and every one of us.

The shadows on the grass below have now disappeared into the dusk and in a moment I will pick up my cup and head inside. The door will close and the blind will be pulled across. The lamp will go on and tea will be poured. But right now I am blinded by the reflection of the sun.

And it is beautiful.

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