Hill in the Distance

There is a small hill, in the distance from my window.
It is where the geese seem to return to.
Now the sun sets in. Will we see a magical evening ? Perhaps.
The sky looks wide and open. Inviting. I know. That's where
the geese's home is. That's where they return to. There on a walk
once, I have seen a home, where some noble soul has a pond, a garden, some trees.
Some evenings, the retreating sun weaves a melody of colors. Those days the small hill suddenly becomes wonderful, hewed in purple pink and blue. Like the home of the fairies.
There are houses spread on it's slopes. A car had left a while ago, along the slope. It looked like a bug. It's quite in the distance, the hill, you know.
A bug returns along the slope. It's dark now, the evening has passed away into night, the sun has eloped with its light, into the mountains.
Perhaps tomorrow, will we see a magical evening.
Yes. Tomorrow.
Until then, we let the hill sleep, in shimmering lights.