Dusk weaves heavenly, cotton-candy silk across the skyline, punctuated by flickering embers of distant suns. An echo of glimmering stardust blinks softly, gently, silently in the growing darkness of the evening. My eyes bug slightly, giving me a shivering jolt and headache, blurring my vision ever so kindly. For a moment, a precious second, the entire vista is a march of shimmering ants, soldiering across the vast expanse before me. They dance and blend, scurry and scuffle about in a buffet of color. I crave the sensation all the more, and allow my head to bow to the side. A sudden, deeply sharp inhalation reminds me to breathe with more care. I neglect myself amid such splendor. Rolling eyes along tendrils of spun sapphire, I nearly miss the crescent moon, and the little village's barely audible slumbering. The waning waft of supper smells and sacred oils mingle from the huddle of cobbled streets. A brushstroke of supple color lands on each paving stone; transforming each byway into a sinuous patchwork dragon. The great scaly city sleeps sweetly, guarded by dancing lights and fading embers of a richly compassionate, vigilant night. An epitaph for an autumn's evening says I, "Oh, gently comes the night."