Sunday

At dusk, a man exits a building. Children have led their parents back home, and the once vibrant day is still. Walking alone, his feet know the road as if they are old friends.

The breath of spring is warm at his back; it wisps through the streets, extinguishing the lights in the houses and carrying the dusts to a soil where yellow flowers grow tall from the ground.

A sun falls beyond the horizon. Its dying flames scatter the heavens, canvasing the sky a thousand shades of gold.

A man stops to smile. For a moment, nothing else matters.

 

 

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