Dim Lights

She walked in her overcoat,
like a weasel in fox's disguise.
The early Monday evening was quiet,
softly bristling leaves cradling the pale yellow glow.
Memoryless, painless, joyless,
her calm causing her fright.
She wondered if this was the eye of the storm,
when everything had died?
but there was none to speak of,
no storm brewing, not even in the teacup.
Left or right, or straight ahead and dive,
she smiled at her silly choice.
Turning right, she sighed
at the familiarity of the scene,
at the desire to see something exciting.
Her wisdom killed her,
why couldn't she be unaware?
That desires were an illusion,
ends were just pastimes,
in this unreal mirage.
Sitting on the bench,
braving the cold breeze,
She asked herself some questions.
No existential dilemmas but some molly-coddling,
sweet, caring words,
Do you want anything darling?
What did you find out today?
Do you want to play?
She nodded and coo-ed to herself,
And gradually let herself be aware,
to the voices of people around her,
to the bells chiming in the distance.
Slowly she got up, turned back, and walked,
noticing the pink horizon for the first time that night.