Today's sunset at the hills
The ancient hills, usually stoic and green, seemed to hold their breath as the day began its slow, deliberate surrender. A hush descended, a palpable reverence blanketing the undulating landscape.
The sky above the highest ridge, a gentle cerulean moments before, now bled into a soft peach, then intensified with astonishing speed.
Soon, the western horizon was a riot of audacious colour. Saffron and rose pink brushed across the wispy clouds, their hues mirrored on the rolling slopes below. Each blade of grass, each gnarled tree, caught a last, glorious kiss of molten gold.
The hills, usually a uniform emerald, now wore a cloak of amber and burnished copper, their contours highlighted with impossible brilliance. It felt as if the very land was sighing, releasing the day’s warmth in a final, flamboyant flourish.
As the fiery orb dipped lower, it seemed to stretch the shadows, pulling them like long, inky fingers across the valleys. Patches of deep violet began to bloom in the hollows, contrasting sharply with the still-flaming peaks.
For a few breathtaking moments, the sun became a perfect crimson disc, balanced precariously on the world’s very edge, before finally sliding out of sight.
The immediate aftermath was even more profound. The sky deepened into a tapestry of amethyst and indigo, streaked with lingering whispers of tangerine. The hills, now softened to charcoal silhouettes, stood as silent sentinels against a canvas that still hummed with the day’s last light. A cool breeze stirred, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine.
The world transitioned, not with a sudden snap, but with a lingering, melancholic exhalation, leaving behind a profound sense of peace and the silent promise of another dawn.