Nothing can stop it, darkness is coming.

Swallowing the sun like the reapers cloak.

Heralded not by fanfares or glory but by the cry of the owl and the fox. Peace descends as the diurnal creatures find their shelter.

The night hunters begin their prowl, shrouded by the night.

Dying hues are the promise of the light that it will come again and banish the night again.

While we can’t control the rise and fall, balance brings comfort to all.