Ahhhh Sunday, I think I will just float around this pond, blind the humans with my milk white feathers. Glide across this silver blue. Create ripples that twinkle in the early morning sun. Gracefully flap my wings causing pellets to sparkle orange in the sunlight. Eat your heart out humans, you only wish you can create beauty like me.
Its the relaxing hour, when the world begins to get quiet, and you can here the crickets, chirping, and the frogs croaking, and the sky is on fire. In the distance, someone is playing some calypso music, rhythm for so. In the field behind the house, cows are mowing, calves are responding, chickens are clucking, bats are heading out for the night. A crowd walks by arguing about the football game that just ended. Oh yes, thus begins the tropical night. Thus begins the hour of simmering down.