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.
