The sun, rising and setting in splendid colors, never grows tired of its admirers__uch like a lady, aglow with grace, never grows tired of chivalrous acts or pretty flowers.

We screamed this primeval scream built on a base of freedom, raised from beauty of a dying breed, and threw our heads back to laugh or cry, I'm not entirely sure which. But the scream shook the golden sunset, bringing it to its knees.

The night creeps in by subtle degrees while a show of fierce colors attracts and distracts me. I look up, suddenly aware of remote lights scattered overhead. I gasp as the last streak of fire dies on the horizon, and I comprehend it all too late. That crafty, dark night has swallowed my world whole.

It seems there is more interest in sunsets than sunrises. Perhaps because innately we fear the dark.

The twilight seems invidious.It simply can__ let the sun hide away when darkness is just another name for night..

Age had drained the color from her eyes the way darkness drains the color from everything