The sun is a golden ball as it dips into the dark— I see it without shutters or curtains, just hanging there above the trees.

The clouds fray out like lace, a soft blush in the evening air, which whispers stories of the day out of the cooler night skies.

I imagine the stars finding their paths through the dark, lit by the secret dreams of the new born dusk,
where shadows roam and life begins.

• Sara Teasdale