I can see how the sun slowly moves to the west descending from its position somewhere directly above my head toward the horizon. Although, it's still the daylight, 6 pm I notice how the light changes its hue from bright white to the slightest hint of yellow. It means that the evening is approaching.
The brevity of days somewhat adds a feeling of urgency, a realization of how quickly the time passes by. There are the paths covered by fine gravel and fallen willow leaves surrounded by lawns with the flower beds scattered across them.
The shadows of huge stately willows stretched to the east cover most of the lawn; with the narrow strip of bright green on its farthest side, followed by an impenetrable wall of trees and shrubbery.
The sky is slowly changing its color from azure to sapphire, and all the clouds are gone except the few almost imperceptible on the eastern part of the horizon.
The summer heat that gripped everything with its sultry embrace for several days, when the air felt dense and heavy like a hot syrup, subsided. The air feels fresh, and there are the intermittent waves of heat and coolness.
The constancy of scenery that otherwise would make me grow nervous, preventing me from staying at one point for too long, pushing me to keep going, now fulfills its purpose of a calming background.
Also, it's inspiring when I hear the whisper of leaves moving in a rhythm of summer breeze, myriads of silvery fish, disturbed, sparkling and murmuring their lulling motive.
In general, this whole environment is conducive to writing, there are few interruptions, although the traffic of people crossing the park increases when it gets closer to the evening.
On the other hand, something prevents my brain from getting into a state of fatigue, in the efforts of fetching out words and inventing metaphors
