Their Last Moment Of Glory

This uncompromising Sunday has agreed to let us enjoy what is left of a boring day as we ardently seek the brief presence of a radiant sunset resembling red clay, attesting the inevitable evidence. The purple lilacs and pink tulips gently sway, nobody listens to the crickets' soothing sounds; early at sunrise they were inundated by big waves and torrents of unmerciful rain pelting on the bay. Every Bayberry and Crape Myrtle shrub has fragrant flowers, they attract Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers and Monarch Butterflies; they all feast on them, then they take off with incredible swiftness: while the tranquil and brilliant sea resounds with various shrills. I spot from far the noisy seagulls landing on the Church's steeple, scattering the Gray Catbirds huddled on long cable wires that were listening to the choir of faithful marching out with glowing smiles, cherishing their last moment of glory under brilliant September's skies.