They Call It Feeling Brown

The summer sunsets are descending in a cloudless haze.

Barely clothed like the dry, barren hills they slip behind, a disparate aura surrounds them.

A brown glow of desolation obscures the lines that draw where each little thing is supposed to end and begin.

It radiates a something that almost feels like a nothing.

Almost.

It would set the world on fire.

If only it could.

Until something lasting comes to wash it all clean ...