He wondered if there was a world, somewhere, where the twilight never passed away into either the hard heat of day or the sharp chill of night. He prayed, he had been doing that a lot lately, that there might be. A world where time tarried and meandered, where it ebbed and flowed like the waves rising and falling against the shore instead of marching, irrevocably, forward.
A mist had rolled in from the sea, carrying a salty, briny perfume that he couldn’t help but associate with a vague remembrance of childhood. He wanted to guard against nostalgia, but by the time he recognized it, it was already coiled about his heart, infusing his perception with gentle pangs he could not name even to himself.
He thought of Adam, alone in the garden, and wondered if he had ever watched Spring and the frolics of Venus, if he had too felt the song without having anyone to dance with. It was growing dark, but sleep was far from him.
Tale Told 