Dusk.

Traipsing through the pumpkin patch,
A single sun beam shines
Casting your vision in white,
Pure white, pure white,
Making you feel happy
And the spotlight of dust
Silhouettes the back of your face,
the tufts of hair in a golden spiral
patting your head,
Like a warm drowsy blanket…

And somewhere in the artificial hay on the ground,
Or amongst the hundreds of orange suns stacked atop them,
There is an interlude of relief.
And for a certain second, nothing matters.
You are in the second.
You are in the dusk.
Shot with a spark of pure happy,
Forgetting physics and calculus,
And not caring to question
Your stretch of a smile as
you sigh
before going back home.





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