On the bayou, in the gloaming, one mo’ time
I’ve often written about the gloaming, that special time of the evening when the light has a magical quality to it. There is no other place in the world than the bayou to watch the dying light. Last night, we hurried to get out on the porch as the sun was casting its long shadows on the houses across the water from us – dusky pink, rustic gold, faded red – it’s a light that is so unique and rich and warm that it makes every day living here worthwhile.
Neighbors are showing up after being away or in hibernation for the summer. I’m starting to see them back to their routines of walking dogs, running, biking, headed to the grocery for milk and eggs. The Cabrini girls in their uniforms are vying for parking all along the bayou in the early morning.
But despite all evidence to the contrary, this week it will be about 95 degrees every day. Someone forgot to tell the weatherman that fall is in the air.