Flawed yellow diamonds

The early dusk of autumn was settling over rush hour when I made the top of Tabor and looked out on the city to the west. The sky was thick and pale.  A warm wind carried traces of rain.  It wasn't yet dark, but headlamps marked the traffic crossing the river.  A string of flawed yellow diamonds.

Rush hour traffic on Ross Island Bridge:  the swollen artery of human endeavor at full pulse.  The heart rests between beats.

I crossed Tabor's crown, seeking out the Old Man to see if he might offer anything that would help me grasp the significance of the moment. 

"I'm sad that summer is gone.  I think about those people across the river and the flawed yellow diamonds.  I wonder how it will be when the lights go out."  That is what I meant to tell him. But he had veiled himself in his brilliant cloak, stranding me well short of his wisdom. 

So I just went home.  I took the most direct route.  Dusk was thick and heavy when I finally got there.