Dusk

Dusk

A placid moon is painted in the sky with strokes of stars nearby.  The midnight hue is calling blue as dusk settles over a field of stale grass.  It weeps softly as a breathy draft causes a shutter through and through.  There standing alone amidst the field is a old crooked oak tree.  It can be said that it has seen its better days.  With twisted gnarled branches and many visits of a friendly woodpecker family.  The old tree is split to one side telling a sad story off a stormy lightning stroked night.

A burning smell gave of this hot ambience showing a fire that had burn out before.  This sickly tree on its last stand was not alone in this grassy land.  Just below the black branches sitting still and tranquil was an old black dog.  His soulful brown eyes seemed to stare out into an abstract distance unknown and enigmatic.  His great nostrils flared taking in all the old smells that he knew once before.  His corse charcoal and slate fur bristled in the curious breeze that continued as the dusk settled its score.  

The dog opened his mouth, curled his tongue and whined as the night was drooping on his eye lids.  The years were wearing on him and the old dog knew that he was like the tree.  Seen his better days and witnessed many extraordinary times that past.  He warily looked up at the tree and then toward the ground where his worn paws sunk into the dry grass.  He let out a sole groan as he stretched his tired and aching muscles bringing himself back to position.  He looked around one last time seeing that nothing had changed in his moment of distraction.  All was the same and nothing more.

He suddenly leaned to his side letting his legs move out from under him and softly thumped to the ground.  The dust flew up around from the disturbance but settled as the old dog became still.  He sprawled his legs and looked ahead of him at his sideways world of sleepiness.  He inhaled deeply and then let out his breath in a heavy sigh closing his eyes in synchronization.  Pictures began to play in his head as sleep overtook him and they danced like ballroom dancers in grace.

Black and white movies of children, familiar people, home and those who loved him repeated in his mind.  These silent movies were full of smiles, friendly faces and a welcoming pat on the head.  He knew all of these people, they were his family.  The dusk grew into the nights darkness as the placid moon painted the sky with strokes of stars nearby.  The old dog lying in the stale grass and beneath the gnarled oak tree remained.  Never to move or make another sound.  Only one question remained forever seething his memory.  When could he go home again?