Vanishing Shapes

Dusk. It always knocks me.

Neon painted. Pinks, yellows and tangerines, sinking ever so slowly down the sky's page. Purple stormy puffs like a Dr Seuss book.

A time of day when faced with all of it. The colour, the heat and the shapes. Bigger than big, larger than large. No avoiding it.

When I was a little girl, dusk meant home time. It meant the day was done....

Emma BrookerComment