Dusk of Scarlet Violet Indigo

The scent of Incense and Eucalyptus.  Children sleep quietly, silence reverberates, the ghost of laughter echoing hollowly.  Lingering coal black clouds, descend upon the outskirts of unmapped towns.  A gentle taste of Autumn in July across dry cracked lawns.  Riptides and the north wind, whisper warnings, pleading to the innocent and young.  The magnificent outline of Chicago, rises from the surface of the western horizon.  Hummingbird, oh hummingbird gliding and levitating amidst rustling spruce.  A jog down Saint John Road.  I hesitate before sunset, to take in the fragrance of white pine.  We rush past cottonwoods, their bark stripped, branches shattered along the curb.  A wind erupts, trampling through the brush along the stream.  We run, we run just north of the cornfields and east of the setting sun.  Exploding into a dusk of scarlet violet indigo.