The sun is down behind the trees. It’s the soft time of day when the colors drift off to sleep, slowly, quietly.

A flower falls onto the soft leaves below.

The dogs pounce like foxes in the meadow.

The heavy grass seeds bend to the ground.

Flowers sigh for departed bees.

A stone rests on a warm block of tofu, pressing it into shape.

Pressed, the block of warm tofu floats dreamily in cooling water.

The soft time of day is a poem which flows like a gentle stream into night’s pleasant dreams.