Night is falling.
The last traces of color have vacated the soft and hazy clouds, leaving a grey dusk behind.
I roll down the windows and let the now-cool air brush over my skin.
Deep, blusey jazz plays soft from the radio, the low bass buzzing the speaker with a faulty connection.
I don't mind.
It is hard to mind much on a drive as an almost-summer day comes to a close.
Its repose is gentle - a sigh burdened only by the exertion of the laziness that results from a sweltering afternoon.
The suburb streets are calm.
School isn't out until tomorrow and fireworks aren't for sale yet.
Street lights flicker on in the gathering night, shifting darkness from the corners of the sidewalk.
The frogs will begin to sing soon and I will let them lull me to sleep.
I roll to a stop to match the softened mood of the evening, pausing the key in the ignition to quiet the engine, but finish the song.
Cymbals chitter under a jazz brush and the last notes fade away on a minor chord.
The colors of the sounds, all blues and purples, match my longing for what will soon be.
Time to go in.
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