The Light Fades That time of day when the light fades to its citrus tones and the air is still, when distant sounds of children and trains disturb the silence, that is the time I sit looking out over the racecourse and the lake waiting, my slow mind catching the scent of distant fires and nearer passions, a dog corrosive on its chain, the fading pulse of cicadas. Soon I’ll light a candle to the dead, those images diaphanous and fleeting that float between the night and my dreaming.   She was the most obstinate of women; once decided on…