Monday fiction, in 58 words

Dusk
The night unfolds humorless.
He watches the dusk descend from the porch of his youth, fireflies flit from dewy grass, but there’s no child wonderment left.
Adults can’t afford such fleeting turns, jelly jars and capturing enough bugs to read by.
Adulthood inched up, took hold.
But a sticky breeze kicks up scents, cut grass, barbecue.
He breathes.

0 comments: