Freewrite by the Sunset
Instead of doing yMusic today (if this happens again, I'll post it on Sundays instead), I'll instead post a piece of freewriting I did outside today.
I started it at about...8:10 or 8:20, and I went inside at about 8:39. It was just that the sunset invited me to write about it, although the less than three-page piece drifted away from that topic once twilight fell and went away.
(By the way, this is unedited, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. Also, it gets a little maniac at some parts and reeks of bathos in others).
Before this sunset ends...
Even without the sun in sight, the sky is still beautiful. It's mostly still blue, with the sunset being a bright blend the night side being a still light but more flat, dreary shade. But the highlights are the croads. The light illuminates tehm with darkening colors. Pink, with shades of organge. Perhaps strawberry blonde? Behind the bright fluff, there is more of a bluish lavender.
Moving closer to where the sun should be, the clouds nearby it are more of a red-pink lemonade. Too bad the tress around them, fully grown with dark green leaves, are obscuring the sprase clouds.
`The moment is also fleeting, with a slight change very minutes.
There also barely visible strips of clouds further up in the sky. More like white streaks, a thin film behind a whitish blue. However, the thin clouds in front of the nightside are more red, being darker.
Nightside is overtaking the sunset though.
The sun leaves behind a thin layer of candle-wax pink.
I asked Mom if this is twilight. She said yes.
The sky peeking through some of the trees seem more silver and gold. However, I must leave that sight, as the small details need some tending too.
A single star shines a bright pinprick. A nearby generator reves with a fan-induced hum. Crickets chirp, birds twitter occasionally, and a single firefly flashes on and off by the shared garden between two houses. A dog barks.
Mom tends to the garden, couched in the dirt. She walks out, holding a hand shovel and a black, plastic pot. She's planting some of the flowers and suhc she failed to sell at the elementary school sale.
I just mistook a florish playing on the radio on the patio for an ice cream truck. A one-dollar bill, change from a food truck where I bought a Mediterrian roll I only ate the meat and bread of, is still in my pocket. Oh, and I also got a plastic bottle of orange juice back there. Of the small kind. Not of the standard Coke bottle kind.
The Latin music is for the upcoming Cinco de Mayo party the neighbors are going to hold on our deck, despite it being passed eight. It's doubtful if I will get any other typing done, besides this piee.
The current song has a thick yet swingy beat, with a male singier singing in an upbeat way.
The neighborhood girl plays on her trampoline, the one other neighborhood kids older and younger than her play on. She has her hair down.
Her grandma calls her in. She's jumping and doing backflips. She wears a black tee with white text, and pink shorts, brighter than the more natural sunset.
Grandma: Where is that music coming from?
Girl: I don't know.
Girl does roll.
Grandma: That was good.
Girl does back cartwheel.
Girl: Last thing.
She does backflip. Again. She finally rolls out of trampoline, slips her shoes back on, goes through grass, stomps up steps onto porch, and goes through sliding door. She pputs hair back in ponytail. In the kitchen, the television plays the local baseball game.
The girl's hair is in a top bun. She walks out of sight.
The same sounds play. My mom sits in one of the chairs by a latern planted into the garden. She has one foot propped by her water, which is in a glass jar with its label ripped off. The other foot hangs her sandel. On the lifted leg hangs her iPad, with the cover hanging down.
She takes a sip from the jar. The ice crinkled.
An airplace whirs nearby. The trees prevented me from seeing it.
The circkets and Latin music is especially loud. The music seems to have a hard beat.
Twilight is long gone.
As I walk in, a firefly lands on top of my loose leaf and flutters off.
Mom: Will you lock the front door?
One regret I have from this that I didn't write fast enough. Along the way, I confused tenses as I couldn't figure out when the present left and the past arrived. Maybe that's one reason why some people don't like present tense.