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.
Darkness creeping in bit by bit and always a race to make it in time before it swallowed everything up. If I was on the other side of the village where I grew up, with my tomboy hands all scruffy and sore from fixing my bike chain over and over again trying to keep up with the kids I had decided to adventure with that day. I would look around and realise in an instant it was time to head home. The sun that had been so strong and willful, forcing us all to perch our bikes under a tree at every chance – was now slowly easing off and taking with it all of the day that was. Along the old train tracks I would ride, willing my legs to move faster past the giant coal mounds, before a train roared past.
Dusk brings it all back to me, the race home. Feeling like you are on the edge of the universe and overwhelmed by the size of the sky, fleeing to beat the darkness trickling its way through the village’s pebbled streets. Home to a warm bath and soft sheets.
Feeling so minuscule back here on Earth amongst cicadas and wafts of jasmine.
When the distance between all of it and I, feels like the distance between the shapes that have long vanished, melted, disappeared from my fingertips too; into nothing. Impossible to reach. No matter how much I want to stretch up and pull them all back down to me. Faces and memories, warmth and love. Whispers and shouts, pep talks, letters, advice and doors slamming. Soft soothing words. All vanished – faded, melted away.
I now clutch on to people tighter upon dusk, I hold onto hands just a little bit longer.
I count my years all the way up and I take a long time to do it. One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. It goes too fast no matter how much I stall.
For a while now I have been vanishing myself – shedding all the bad, shitty stuff anyway. Falling away, disappearing as it should. I feel finally ready to let everything drop, including my concrete shoulders.
The offer of something lighter.
I feel like dusk itself, melting down the page.
Making way for stars to shine.
Dropped shoulders and dusk time tangerine.
Emma Kate xoxo