On sunny days there are actually two sunsets.
The first, at high noon, when the sun is vertical enough to be obscured by the eaves and cease shining its warm light of promise into the windows of my house. The mood shifts, the room turns blue, the mind bends to the knowledge that daylight is fleeting, and things must now be done, hope or no hope.
The second, of course, is when it is horizontal enough to be obscured by the landscape and cease shining its cold light of performance on my world. The irises widen, the creeping blue that follows whispers promises for when we light the fires of the fleeting night. Reach out and rest now, hope or no hope.