The Setting Of The Sun

The Setting Of The Sun Nothing much to say about this one... The sun is setting, an orange orb, once hot. The birds stop their incessant chatter, the wind slows to a stop, Nature herself waits in acquiescence. As do I, in the silence, for the silence. The chatter begins, the wind picks up. My feet turn towards home, the noisy hustle, returned to. The peace does not last very long. Life itself is a lot of random actions, the noise that surrounds us, a part of our existence. The noise deafens and defines our ears, and we turn to stone, enduring the noise. But I return to this very spot, every evening as the sun dies and the world mourns it's passage. As do I, in the silence, for the silence. Maybe we live through the noise the shouting and chattering of day, for the profound silence at the end, and the end of ends. As the sun sets for the final time, perhaps the moment of peace, silence, is fulfillment. The ultimate quest, completed in a moment. The end of ends, sees the end of noise. The achievement of peace, Unfortunately though, the sun must set, and I am accustomed to it's glare.