It is midafternoon when the day
is breathing a sigh, for escape
from bustle of morn.

Adorned with sun now slipping,
shadows long gone, there is
a pale shade to all of life.

The houses across the way
in faded show, light spray.
Slight of the bright
they display in morning glare.

The tone, soft around meet
of plane to air, corner of wood,
now a bit undefined, in mid-
afternoon luminance.

It is a different kind of calm
than felt through night's window.
This is a moment only, of quiet,
before the din of rush hour flow.

People then, will take their place
upon landscape through pane viewed
muted some by the grey of day
in late afternoon of mood.

Alas, then the vision will be lost,
of time just standing still.

WhiteRose 10/14/02