The sun has gone down and it is dark in my camp, but the river seems to retain some of the light from the day. I can only see shadows of the mountains against the clear medium-blue sky; they might be the mountains, or they might be clouds. But, no, they must be mountains, because there are clouds above them.
Nearby I see the outlines of stumps and the line of the remnant of a pier against the silver water . On the farther shore, which is visible only as a darker outline, I see colored lights flashing on and off--green lights and red lights--I don’t know what they are or what they are for. The stars begin coming out one at a time as the river looses the sun’s light.
Off to the south-east, greater light betrays the existence of a city behind the hills. All else is in darkness. The land is black, the water grey, the sky a lighter grey with the light of stars peeking through.
There is the sound of traffic occasionally going by on the road nearby. Otherwise, there is no sound of mankind. Only the lapping of the river against the bank, the wind through the leaves of the trees, and, just once, the indignant quacking of a duck whose rest was disturbed.
All else is peace.
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