The sky exhales a breath of peach and rose where light and liquid meet in quiet grace the winding silver of the river flows to hold the sun within its cold embrace. The marsh is drinking in the amber glow as shadows stretch their fingers through the weeds the pulse of evening tide is soft and slow retreating from the salt and swaying reeds.
The distant islands are ghosts of indigo wrapped in the velvet haze of day’s decline while on the bank the golden embers grow along the water’s shifting, brilliant line. A moment held in amber, still and deep before the fire pales to violet gray and all the sunlit world begins to sleep within the cooling arms of ended day. The sky exhales.
