the clouds are low, dark grey and burning on the edges from the setting sun -
they may be only a band, thinning and fading toward the center of the dome of
heaven, but from here I can't tell. in the fading light the tops of the olive
trees in the courtyard are waving in the breeze I know is chill and damp. the
western sky is achingly blue, but not the blue of a summer day, or winter
morning. it is blue in an almost foregetful fashion, in the way the old lady
down the road is beautiful. it is soft and faded, tired and knowing that it is
only going to fade still further. looking at her, you feel a pain of regret
that you could not have known her before all that was left of her beauty was a
ghost, at knowing that it will never return in this life, that one day you too
will resemble her. in the same way you ache at the sight of the faded and dying
light of day, slowly draining from the horizon. but she smiles and you still
think "how lovely!" and the sky is blue until the light is entirely gone.
the trees have become dark sillouets, leaves and branches against darkening
skies.

how dark it is! through the open gate I can see the light of a sidewalk lamp and
a single candle red and flickering down at the bottom of the hill. the
reflections on the window almost make me feel as though I were sitting on the
outside looking in - a Peter Pan whose imaginings are so real that they bring
the reflections into reality around him.
all around me are scattered papers, collected through the year in hopes of
remembering something of what has been "learned" when time has brought exams about again.