Sometimes the quiet things can be the best;
The warm nights sitting on a patio,
When all is hush and sunset slides down slow,
And everyone sits softly down to rest
While orange-red fire sinks into the west
Backlighting bare brick buildings in its glow
And everything is still. It's then you know
No frustration, annoyance, bug, or pest
Can touch the deep calm quiet of the night
And all is peace: will be, must be at peace
As all distractions and confusions cease,
And the hot sun sinks obscurely out of sight.
This witching moment is the time of calm
When evening lacquers out its healing balm.
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