EVENING of the closing day, come down upon the river. He appeareth in the failing hour, when the cottonwoods along the bank hold the last red of the hidden light and the water turns to pewter beneath a sky of ash and rose; the ridge beyond has already given up its colors, and waits. His office is to lower the lamp slowly: to let the blood of the day drain westward without haste, so that every burning tree is given time to make its peace with the gray. He is brother to the Blooded Bank, which is this same river met at the full of noon; what the brother declares, the evening forgives. Soon even the red will be a rumor, and the river will carry it away by morning.
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