I left in the gloaming; my favorite time of a summer’s eve. There is that in the glowing sun already hidden behind the horizon turning the hills before it into black silhouettes… this, before the sky turns dark.

The that for me is a deep and  unsettling yearning. This, feels like there is something that I am missing. This, feels lonely. And it always has. So I walked.

The heat of the day lingered as a strong breeze sang through the grand chestnut, maple and walnut trees that line block upon block of this historic neighborhood. This is a neighborhood of homes that were built to hold a family of twelve and staff and some, only some, of more modest design.

I thought, as I wandered, that I would see folks on their wide, spreading porches, couples walking, children reluctantly returning home.

But doors and windows were shut tight, the streets and yards were empty, the only sound was the whirring of air conditioners nestled beneath windows and tucked behind bushes. Only two doors stood open of the many that I passed. Only two couples walked by. Only two people sat on their porch.

The trees, bushes and plants gave up their fragrance as I walked by, some so heady and alluring, I buried my face in their blossoms. Walnut shells, cracked open by squirrels, crunched under my feet.

The sky was turning the darkest of night blue and stars began to appear. I turned towards home still enveloped in this strange yearning that comes with the gloaming of summer’s eve. This is that.