Lit from beneath by golden light, the leaves of the swaying trees might have been the embers of a dying fire. The heart of that fire was the lowering sun that flamed into view as it fell further beneath the leaf canopy and settled between tree trunks. The round disk pulsed with energy, like a roaring furnace viewed through a cracked door.
Only the furnace, so far gone toward the horizon that it no longer offered heat sufficient to ward off the evening chill, left me glad for the sweatshirt that trapped my own body's heat.
There in the early twilight I marveled that the sun which had just a few hours ago made bricks too hot to walk upon was now nothing more than the ghost of a promise of warmth.
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