Word: dusk
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...lights a fire beneath the "search" that all of us, in one form or another, have undertaken. We want something to show for our 75. or whatever, years when they are behind us. The Supermarket Racer option has shown its bankruptcy in the pathetic forms of frantic, dawn-to-dusk errand-running P.T.A. mothers and ulcer-ridden financier uncles. The search has brought some of us to Harvard and is beginning to turn many of us away from it. It has fostered acidheads, Weathermen, Krishna- consciousness chanters, junkies...
Bruegel makes one peer down through winter dusk like some half-frozen bird upon the wing. He gives the March floods room to rise, roaring about the dikes of Flanders in time of carnival and willow pruning on the dark, hard-budded land. He shows the earth veiled in blue boundlessness at haying time. Then in the fall comes the sacrifice of her apples, her grapes and human fruits as well. The herd plods home. A body dangles from a gibbet on a hill. Reality was his subject, and truth his object. Yet these paintings are not finickily meticulous...
...long afterwards, people began to leave. The park beneath the Monument looked, in the early dusk, like a debris-strewn battlefield. But the Monument shone in the sunlight. Suddenly, as if they had erupted from some invisible door in its base, a huge crowd of black-jacketed demonstrators came charging down, waving NLF flags and chanting. "Revolution!! One More War!!" They surged past us, regrouped, and charged by one more time. They were very frightening. After a short rest, they headed off to the Justice Department, this time in a fast march...
...zero temperature, the inlet rimming the camp was layered with ice, and the sand was frozen hard as concrete. Bending like a bloodhound over the maze of snow tracks in the clearing, Fred whispered: "They're moving out of that shintangle [thicket] over there just after sundown." At dusk, as he watched a deer 100 yards off through his binoculars, a red squirrel barked behind him. Turning, Fred looked straight into the eyes of the big buck standing 20 yards away. Startled, the deer quickly thumped off into thick cover before Fred had a chance to react...
...hung Melina's sponge in a spruce and sprinkled the trunk with a liquid lure made from the sex glands of a doe. Nothing worked. "The only thing left to do," said Fred, blackening his face with soot, "is hunt by moonlight and shoot by shape." Shortly after dusk, his eye caught the reflection of antlers in the moonlight. Again it was the big buck, and again he was moving enticingly close-70 yards, 65, 60. Then the wind shifted, the buck snorted and disappeared into the night...