Sunset

She sits on the steps leading up to the house, gazing over the hedge, past the blossoming trees into the yellowing sky. Waiting for brilliance. As she waits, she sees through the branches of the bush-like mango tree, the distinct outline of a cloud illuminated from somewhere beyond her horizon, and wonders when the sky will burst, wonders why she waits. She wonders what it must be like to feel lonely and useless; to sleep but not sleep because it is only in snatches of fitful half-hours that rest comes, to be constantly hungry but find that once a reluctantly prepared meal of basics is placed in her mouth in pinches it turns to pulp, to stare into the sky thinking but not knowing whether she thinks or not and what of.. She has forgotten what the late bat gliding out of the voiceless sunset on motionless wings knows every new evening. She waits for colour, and waits and waits. But the sky simply grows darker as the first brilliant dots the sky. Not the same, but still..