Another Setting Sun

Flamingo wings are the clouds touched by the lingering fingertips of another setting sun.
As they funnel into the vanishing horizon the waters of the lake mimic the ruby plumage of the sky.
Softly, softly the shadows deepen the husk of the dusk.
At the water's edge the moored boat rocks itself into a dreamless slumber.
A fitful breeze whispers a lullaby through the leaves of tall trees dissolving into the deepening gloom.
Incandescent lights blink their eyes open one by one by one like pinpricks of amber starlight caught in the tangled tresses of a moonless earth.