Sunset is poetry

The sky dissolves into a last, bright sigh. The blue surrenders, yielding to a slow fire that floods everything. The clouds, shy wisps of cotton, drink from that fiery glow until they are stained a deep red, like heavenly embers floating above the world.

The sun, now hidden, lights its torch on the horizon and spills it across the air. Everything grows calm, gilded, still. It is the perfect moment when the day, before sleeping, gives us its most beautiful disguise. A fleeting spectacle that asks for nothing, only that you witness it and keep its warmth in your soul, like a secret between the sky and those who know how to look.

For in the end, the most beautiful light is the one that takes its leave, painting the coming shadows with hope.