Rhinosaur

I sat, and looked.
The setting sun was slowly turning into the red ball of flame we're so used to seeing in paintings. The sky was a dark blue, but cheerful nevertheless. The water, rippling, shimmering, echoed the sky's shades with even more intensity. The sky above was filled with little puffs of cloud of the purest white, like someone emptied a sack of cotton bolls and arranged them neatly in rows. To the west, it looked like God's own sweepers had been on duty sweeping the clouds with the very same brooms that our street-sweepers use-- only on a much grander scale. The wind was chilly, but not fiercely so; it wasn't the zephyr of a midsummer's day, either. It brought you to the point where you thought you'd shiver, but you didn't. The sun countered the wind with the gentlest warmth you could imagine, like your mother's arms. Far off, in the distance, trains ran- they appeared small enough for mice. People at that distance were mere indistinct moving dots against the landscape. It was simply beautiful.
I sat, and looked, and looked.