Rachel Jung beautifully depicts sundown in this enchanting poem.
The sun hangs low in the sky like a ripe apple
as my bicycle zig-zags over the
thick paint-stripe shadows cast by the trees.
Skimming over my face, the last light of day
dips below the hilltops and they blur,
layers of green scrapbook paper torn at the edges.
The view that once was is closed but
today is delicious; I take sip after sip.
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