29. Sundown

sundown

Sundown. Smooth reflections of orange hues fall from the foamy white clouds and orbit the tall buildings around the little lake. Those who canoe back and forth move their muscles in the beat of “one, two, three” “one, two, three”, the sound gets lost when another beat comes in, faster, and it’s a team prepping up for competition. They all break the circles of ripples that have no center, so that the gentle light sliding down from the clouds sits comfortably for a second, changes color, and then it’s gone, turned into effort, sinewy movements of legs clasped to avoid unbalance, and oars splashing into late-evening summer weather, thunder and lightning far, far, too far from the impressive hordes of exhaust fumes in fitful squirts across the bridge, speeding by with almost no sound at all.

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