Twilight was once the worst part of my day. When the empty nest syndrome hit and I stood by the produce counter not knowing how many tomatoes to buy for one, then broke into sobs, twilight was the worst! That was when families were gathering around, I could smell onions sauteeing in other kitchens, then put the key in my lock to go into an empty house. So when I started playing at computers, and though I found the days were very busy, I was indeed in my twilight years, so I adopted the screen name of twilite.
Now I have sweet twilight friends, but don't fault me if I see you in the mornings sometimes.
Tonight, though, I found another delight in twilight. Just after the day and before time to turn on the night lights, the house is clean! It has a softness about it and the clutter becomes muted shades that seem to form art objects on a table. No dust can be seen, and the colors all match. I think a candle is in order.
Also, today I wrote a little poem at twilight while noticing the birds:
I hear the fluting sparrows,
And cello-throated Martins.
A gently sweet violin breeze
Twines through trombone twilight.
As I listen, the bass viol darkness
Creeps through the evening
Like a lurking cat, and
Murmuring roosted pianissimos
Turn beaks under wings in sweet sleep.