The law of inevitability.

The trees sway, silent at first, majestic and ominous and free spirited. Pushed and nudged by a breeze of sweetmeats and summer, they fling birds at the sky. It's an aria of light, not golden enough to be dawn, not pure enough for home, just splinters of impossible gradients. Life pixels, supreme, gaussian but obeying the law of inevitability. The foreboding of evening, hanging as a deadline, felt from years ago just like now. I should be doing something. Should be back there thinking, stretching, pens then and fingertips now. Straightening a wavering line of thought, putting it down to erase and rejumble it. That special dread of darkness and burden, trying to tease out a flinch of clarity, nothing more. Those gemstone facets, sliver-sparks, hard certainties so uncertain, so elusive in that grim light of evening. Standing under a sky open sky, all endless red purple streaks, a mournful choir of grasshoppers and sprinklers, knowing too soon that it was all ending, watching the eucalyptus sway.