Dusk

The setting sun tinges the world with the golden orange glow of candlelight.
The kiln of the day is turned off. The baked clay of the earth cools in the night breezes sent to sooth her furrowed brow, carrying intensified perfumes of grass and flower, herb and root.
A mythical time, when the ancient truths of one's soul become more real than this modern, noisy, sterile world.
When the veil is thin between us and the pagan gods who begot us.
When one's ego can rest for a brief breath and you can just be.

Fleeting.