Office by Alex Penny
One more reason to thank the internet.
There are dawn people and there are dusk people. Dawn people relish in being there as the world comes to life as the sun slowly lifts its heavy yawning head. Dusk people are different. They rather like the closing up of shop as the day winds down, their pleasure is in this unassuming prelude to the night. Call me a dusk person.
Dusk reminds me of Spanish moss dangling from towering, gnarled live oaks that dotted my grandfather’s yard and lined the dirt road next to his home— a middle-sized Florida cracker-styled house covered by a tin roof and lots and lots of vinyl siding. It reminds me of bull bats zigzagging through the branches of these oaks in search of fat mosquitoes and other hapless prey as the last bit of sunlight slowly seeps out of reach. Dusk reminds me of him.
Sometimes, even now, I will slide open the reluctant glass door and escape to my backyard in those few precious moments before night sets. I’ll stand there in the gathering darkness and listen. The shrill electric buzzing of the cicadas mingles with the cacophony of baritone tree frogs to produce a medley that seems to coax the Moon from her hiding place. As the cool, itchy grass dances along my bare feet, I peer up into the sky and momentarily find my place.
In those brief solitary moments, I know that I am the son of a son of a son ad infinitum and I take solace in the simple fact that my sons may also one day look up at the advancing night sky and find simple pleasures. Perhaps they will gaze at the twinkling stars and think of home or family or even lost loves. In their introspection, may they find some fleeting clarity in this ephemeral twilight which binds the day to the night. May they too become dusk people.
