Dusk Settles

The day loosens its grip slowly, light pooling in corners like spilled honey, and the world forgets its urgency.

Even the birds fall silent, suspended between what was and what comes, wings folded in the amber pause.

You stand at the threshold, neither inside nor out, watching the sky bleed from blue to rose to something unnamed.

This is the hour of small miracles— a single star, a breath held, the earth turning toward mystery.