Winter Sun

Listening to the cricket on the radio. One can hear the call to prayers in the background and picture the lengthening shadows on the field, the slow dullness of the day in a semi-urban town, the sun fading all the time and the people clasp their hands, wondering if they will be remembered, or if they too are destined to fade, like Icarus.

Anyone who knows Lahore in winter will recognize this:

December brown set in about three...These were the shortest days. The afternoon light no sooner came in than it was on its way out. It was cold, too. Brittle scales began to show on the street puddles, a crystalline bitterness setting in. Where the light withdrew, the yellow-brown of the stucco was pocked with mild blue. On the open porches over the way-bottles, wet rags hung out to dry frozen at the points, and vine twigs. The glory of the day carried things easily when the sun shone; but when the sun passed, things seemed abandoned, they became dissociated, and you had to find a way to take them up yourself."

----Dean's December, Saul Bellow