Dark Again

It is becoming dark again. This seems to be the time that I write – as the daylight slips away. I have no music. I have no lights. I can scarcely see the keys. Luckily I can just about touch type – one of my few skills. Looking up at the mandarins and apples roughly heaped in the porcelain bowl, it is as though I am looking through a dark camera viewfinder. The mandarins still have their bright highlights, but unnaturally subdued, even gray. The apples have altogether disappeared – nothing more than a subterranean geology. The two pineapples in the wooden fruit bowl are like fat things nestled in bed. The sound of kookaburras, small birds and cars. Always a lift in the sound of cars as the day ends, as people rush about with their varied expectations of evening. And no doubt I should also be looking ahead, considering what comes next. I cannot simply sit in the gathering dark – and yet I can.