Last light

It's late afternoon and I'm lying in bed staring out the window.
Last light. Which is reflecting on the bare trees in the street, and on an aloe plant I have in a pot.
The wind has finally stopped thrashing the trees outside; there's no other sound except for the neighbour with the awful generator's wind chimes.
We will, symbolically, be reaching the longest night in the coming week; I pray that, afterwards, the light and the end of the storm will come quickly.
The dawn is at its closest at the darkest hour.