Walking with the Dusk

One of the things I love most about living in Singapore is nightfall.

I can hardly explain it
but every night as dusk falls in the tropics
I am transported
back to many, many idyllic childhood memories
of feeling safe, of returning home.

And when dusk walks quietly
past my Asian home,
the African in me
opens all the doors, lights the candles
and pours a sundowner.

Then I try to sit and just listen.

But usually I am kid-wrangling a child in the shower with my jeans rolled up and splashes all over me, tea-towel over a shoulder and facecloth in one hand, stirrer in the other
as dinner is bubbling with the microwave binging,
homework help is being issued in a stacatto fashion over one shoulder
yes, that's how you spell Hobbit
and the phone is chiming with texts from all over the globe,
grocery delivery time also occurs,
and the delivery driver frequently sees my toddler wrapped in a towel fresh from her shower,
I am calling and re-calling the eldest from the pages of Ga'hoole,
to unpack the dishwasher and narrowing my eyes at her Facebook page from my steps past the family computer.
My husband walks in then too.
And sometimes I know he's home but haven't even seen him,
from the blur of juggling,

and somehow

somehow, I miss the moment.

By the time I stop to look for my old friend Dusk,
there is nothing left but my fatigue reflected in the inky window panes.

One beautiful evening last week as soon as my husband stepped into the door after work,
we escaped zoo hour and headed instead to the Botanical Gardens.
In the quiet of the cool of the evening
down the halls of towering branch giants,
I walked very, very slowly.

The kids shot off ahead on their scooters
screeching with unbridled hunger joy,

and Greg wandered off with the stroller
while I pressed one sandalled foot behind the other,
deliberate steps on the face of the world.

Just breathing.

And listening.

But mostly just watching.

And in the all beauty about me,
of water and sparkling reflections,
petals and leaf shadows,
gliding fish, hungry turtles and swans,
my lens was unceasingly seeking these three.

MNM's  – (October 14, 2010 at 9:12 PM)  

What a beautiful juxtaposition of the routine and chaotic evenings usually faced against an unexpected and magical time in that dusky hour.

Some beautiful shots of the girls too :0)

Sj  – (October 14, 2010 at 10:30 PM)  

They look so good my friend, so good.
they look at home, at peace.
Hope you got my text the other day, i need to check if i got all the numbers right in replying to you. love you, love you, sez

p –   – (October 15, 2010 at 9:57 AM)  

"By the time I stop to look for my old friend Dusk,
there is nothing left but my fatigue reflected in the inky window panes".

that is such an amazing line...

LLH Designs  – (October 16, 2010 at 1:14 AM)  

This is beautifully written! I'm so glad you kept a comment for me so that I could find you and appreciate both your words and images! Looks Iike we are peas in a pod in some ways! I'll be back for sure!

Blessings to you and your health. Here's to living life to the full!


P.S. I love your Wordless Wednesday idea. I'm not routine enough to do something Iike that every Wednesday, but I love the concept.

Gail  – (October 16, 2010 at 8:52 AM)  

Ames, you are so talented. Just secretly, your blog is my fav. :) I've been thinking heaps about the peace Jesus had in the storm (this is because we are talking about it this Sunday at Young Stars)... you describe the storm between 5-8pm so well, we can easily get caught up in it - I do every night almost without fail! I think I need to take one of those walks instead - and refocus my eyes!
Your lense found beauty! The girls are growing up so deliciously!

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