Where did the twilight go?

     Since coming to the city, even dusk has become a rare sight. Often, the streetlights come on before the sun has even set; because it's still early, you have to look carefully to see their light.

    Dusk belongs to the countryside.

    For many long years, I lived in the countryside, where dusk was commonplace, yet it created countless beautiful moments for me.

    When I was very young, my mother did all the farm work, leaving my older sister, ten years my senior, to look after me. As dusk fell, my sister would have already prepared a simple dinner. My mischievous brother was still running around outside, and unable to find him, she would pull me close to her and sit on the worn-out doorstep, quietly waiting for our mother. Our big yellow dog would curl up obediently before us, its head resting on our feet. Not far from the door was a large pond, the reeds along its banks gradually darkening in the dusk until they became a deep gray curtain, connecting the sky and the earth. And I, as dusk turned into night, would fall asleep nestled against my sister.

    The year I graduated from high school, I was heartbroken. During the day, I would lock myself in my room, either sleeping soundly, blasting pop songs like "Walking Through the Coffee Shop," or doodling. Only at dusk would I emerge like a bat. I would put on my beige trench coat, collar turned up, and walk to the edge of the village, sitting for half an hour on the deserted, abandoned Yellow River beach. The undulating fields on the beach, under the sun, would make one feel restless, but at dusk, they gave me a sense of vastness; the river, which was shallow during the day, you wouldn't even call it a river, but at dusk, it became unfathomably deep, and many of my troubles sank into its waters. Now,

    after turning thirty, and becoming a father of three, I still live in the countryside. Although life is still hard, my interest in reading grows stronger year after year. There were always endless things to do during the day. At dusk, I would often take a book, stroll to the irrigation ditch east of the alley, or walk a little further to the pile of rocks by the Grand Canal. I would sit on the edge of a culvert or on a large rock, quietly reading. As dusk deepened and the words became invisible, I would sit silently, listening to the occasional barking of dogs from the street or the whistles of boats traveling on the Grand Canal, casually thinking about the events of the day, casually thinking about the future, until my children, arm in arm, found me.

    Later, my family moved to the city, and since then, I've never felt dusk again.

    Where has dusk gone?