The Passing of Light
The morning begins with a quiet duel between night and day. To the east, the sun rises—a molten bloom of gold unfurling across the sky—while to the west, the moon lingers, luminous and steadfast, reluctant to let go. For a fleeting moment, they face one another like old friends exchanging a final word. The sun seems to say, “I’ll take it from here,” and with a graceful nod, the moon begins its slow descent, folding itself into the horizon.