I remember looking out the aircraft window one evening,
watching the sun move away in a quiet glow
that refused to die.
A sudden rift opened between the clouds
where a breath of light escaped,
fragile and insistent.
In a spirit of solace, I watched the day
drift away with the sun.
The quill, steady in my hand,
gathers the evening’s burnt-orange light
and floats gently across the page,
offering verses to the fading dusk.