Music made by other people. Especially if that music involves a guitar, and some Spaniards
The golden glow of windows, intensifying the deepening shadows.
The green, supple, grass of a north eastern summer.
Your voice (voi ici) on the answering machine, that many many years ago, warm and dancing.
Fireflies in the depths of tree shadows.
Words flowing through the brain, fluid and faint and deepening as the change in colors washing across the sky, high atop the shadows of tree tops.
Fade, to black.