Twilight

The fading day embraces the oncoming night with a subdued eagerness. The sun has begun its gradual descent across the horizon. The faint sunlight struggles to seep in through the engulfing darkness. Once in a while, a gentle breeze breaks the monotony of the otherwise creeping silence. The trees cast their dark shadows on the tranquil waters. The occasional whiff of breeze causes the leaves to flutter and stirs the still waters creating ripples which take a new form before they merge with the stillness once again. The dim light from the street lights seem to brighten up the waters with their reflection.

She sits at the bank soaking in the solitude, hoping to drown the clammer of thoughts in her head with the surrounding silence. At a distance, she spots an elderly couple engrossed in deep conversation. The sound of an occasional soft laughter coming from their direction fills the air. Her fingers aridly trace a pattern on the sand. She is completely unaware of the depiction that is forming. She stares disconnectedly at it, as if the fingers creating them were not her own. A shrill calling of a bird awakens her from her dreariness and she struggles to comprehend the outline on the sand. Unable to fathom her own thoughts, she erases the pattern with a quick effort. All that is visible across the horizon now, is a crimson hue of the faded day. There are not many people on the bank. The elderly couple has left. Caught between conflicting possibilities of staying a little longer and a quick retreat home, she wonders what she ought to do. There is not much to do at home. To linger a few moments more would not do much harm. Having quietened her inner conflict momentarily, she decides to take a walk across the bank to soar her dampened spirits. Her agile steps which sink into the sand displacing it, the feel of the coarse sand against her soft feet, seem to dissolve her agonies with every step. She can feel a lightness filling her heart. Her footprints on sand now weigh with the heaviness once borne by her heart. These too will fade away soon. Just like her dispensed gloom, the footprints will be washed away in time. Tomorrow's twilight will probably have a different tale, a different pattern and new footprints...