{"id":386,"date":"2019-08-13T22:47:52","date_gmt":"2019-08-13T22:47:52","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/?p=386"},"modified":"2019-08-13T22:47:52","modified_gmt":"2019-08-13T22:47:52","slug":"my-love-is-a-late-afternoon","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/?p=386","title":{"rendered":"My Love is a Late Afternoon"},"content":{"rendered":"

My love is a late afternoon.<\/span><\/p>\n

It is the nostalgic glow of a waning hour.<\/span><\/p>\n

It is the sense of surety following the middle of the day, that the cold of the early morning is a distant memory.<\/span><\/p>\n

It is the familiar winding down of work and the lowering of a burden.<\/span><\/p>\n

It is the excitement of an evening to come, brimming with potential.<\/span><\/p>\n

It is the perfect opportunity to hold one another, and the freedom for that moment to develop, howsoever it may.<\/span><\/p>\n

It is the full satisfaction following a hearty meal, and sometimes the pleasant excitement of a snack or tipple.<\/span><\/p>\n

It is the settling of the flora, no longer affected by morning dew, and steadfast in its dedication to the path of the sun.<\/span><\/p>\n

It is – all at once, and each in turn – azure, cerulean, white, gold, copper, and crimson.<\/span><\/p>\n

It seems, in the dead of night, an impossibility that it will ever return quite so fantastic, quite so bright, as it was the last afternoon. And yet,<\/span><\/p>\n

It is certain, it is inevitable, it is destined, whilst it paradoxically remains changing, malleable, afresh.<\/span><\/p>\n

It is the autumn of the day, when time hangs on a thought.<\/span><\/p>\n

It is too early to call it quits, and late enough to remark on the longevity of the experience.<\/span><\/p>\n

It is the faint halo my lover wears on her crown, as the warm setting of our star outlines her perfection.<\/span><\/p>\n

It is the last chirrup of a field-mouse, the final purr of a wood pigeon, as the cacophony of the day reaches calando on its journey into the darkness\u2019 hum.<\/span><\/p>\n

My love is a late afternoon.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My love is a late afternoon. It is the nostalgic glow of a waning hour. It is the sense of surety following the middle of the day, that the cold of the early morning is a distant memory. It is the familiar winding down of work and the lowering of a burden. It is the Read More<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-386","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/386","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=386"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/386\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":387,"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/386\/revisions\/387"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=386"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=386"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/montyake.pirat.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=386"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}