At The Sunset

by Igor Zenin

Two horses graze at the waterline while a birch canopy overhead catches fire in everything the sunset's got left to give, the lake underneath just repeating the whole show back up at the sky. Nobody's hurrying off this shoreline — not the horses, not the light, not whoever stood still long enough to catch both at once. Evenings like this don't happen on a schedule; they happen once, if you're lucky, and this is what one looks like held onto.