The skies are pumpkin, with veins of pink… scattered as stray bands trailing the arch from the center of the bowl of the sky to either edge of the earth that we can see. Vast, brightly orange to golden clouds of heavenly fog pour together form lost airborne vapors of the nearby sea, and further surface tensions lower with the gathering of the billowy sky-cotton. Evening draws ever near, the day-star, the source of heat and life travelling to new lands for a time, leaving us a chance to cool, and renew. Time seems to pause a moment, and then speeds to catch up with itself, the glow of twilight washing over us all, an amber tint soon to fade to deep blue-black. The shift change to the lunar eye is immanent, to keep us from stumbling too much in the gathering dark, and luminous freckles begin to cover the sky’s cheeks. A faint wind kicks up, bringing the scent of a distant cook fire searing tasty morsels for a late supper.
It is eighty-three degrees.