In the Evening. . . Sitting down, I look into the eyes Of my cat who's perched on the mound Of books and others likewise the room is not very clean but the setting sun through the windows makes it serene In the evenings I write, diving into a different world for an hour or two. As I create, ideas take flight, I work to write something true. My green-eyed girl comes down from the desk to hop in my lap to flop down and curl. Stopping for a second, I look out into the encroaching blue, at the sun and fog and clouds, and wonder how anyone would get anything done with such a view. ☆☆☆