Intimation of Fog

A dusty sun on a dusty trail, almost sundown, in the middle of Summer. The west wind brings intimation of fog to eat into the the sleepy heat of the day. We are on the cusp of day and night. My front side is warm, my backside is not. Fat dog and I sit by the stream which grows louder with each darkening moment. The voices on the trail above grow fainter as I close my eyes and see through eyelids only the deepening reds of the setting sun. Breathing slows, and the rubies that are my eyes burn crimson. They are all I am, ready to catch a night breeze, and follow the sun.