The sun was sinking in its accustomed place on the western horizon. As the light faded, bit by bit, accordingly did my anger mount. Twilight is my time of rage as the failures of the sunlit hours come together in my mind.
In the morning I gave a speech, which in its preparation I had filled with brilliant flashes of wit and insight. But in the presentation I stuttered, and mumbled, and made a bad impression.
The people I must talk to at work are Philistines. They do not understand me. How can I shine when all about me exude darkness?
As I walked home from work, a homeless man smiled at me and made a cheerful little joke as I passed him on the sidwalk. I became ill at ease and went by him without pausing, staring glumly ahead, for I did not know how to respond. Why was I inadequate to that moment?
Each day, at sunset, I wish that I could hold the sun in the sky for just a few more hours to give me time to set the day aright, and I rage that I cannot.