elastic gloaming

The darkness comes on so slowly it is like night is too lazy to fall. My mom made $678 at the farmer's market. The grass in our square of lawn is like a homage to the dandelion. They have all gone white now and are waiting for the wind to kiss or kill them, split up the offspring. Every gust could be goodbye.
I am listening to Arabic Chillout. It is one way I try to quench my strange fascination with the desert. That is not to say it is any more fascinating that watching a sudden rain storm struggle to rush through the maze of cobblestones on the Royal Mile. Just that one feels yellow/orange/rust/red and the other feels grey/black/silver/blue.