Gazing into the sunset; days after an election.

Awash in a sea of uncertainty:

Pugwash on his poopdeck with the crisp wind whirling from the west
Stinging
Shaking branches and the dust of the sunset
Out
Day’s end

The last of the light slips slowly down behind the horizon
Where it can warm someone else’s world
Until ours is ready again.

It’s spring next week
Time to dream of richness and growth
And new dawnings.