Light filters through the canopy, particles float through the air. There is a buzz in the air; the woods are alive.

The sun continues its journey. The sky goes from blue, to white, to a beautiful, rich golden.

A dream world comes to life. Dark hair turns light, the darkest eyes of cocoa become warm pools of gold. Everything is muted.

The end is near.

Time ticks on. The sky is streaked with vibrant hues of pink, purple, orange.

The world is awash in the beauty and the delicateness of this late light.

If only for a moment, there is peace in the world. The world focuses its gaze on the dying sun, and exhales.

A sigh of peace, a moment to reflect. A cool breeze blows, ruffling hair and skirts and loose pieces of paper. Heads tilt up, breathing it in.

It is a moment of transition. What has begun in the early light is slowly ending, and those that haunt the dark, star-filled skies are slowly coming awake.

They exist in harmony, for this short time, bound together by this mystical thing that gives life and light, but also hurts and kills.

Slowly, agonizingly, the disc deeps beneath the far horizon.

The purples turn to dark red and orange.

The sky begins to blacken. The first twinkle of stars comes to life.

The day is ended, and another will begin.