Sunsets are most often described as a fiery passionate thing, but it isn’t, not really. It’s a slow, quiet progression of a faraway star scrolling downward through a multi-colored sky. A sunset is the gradual sinking of yellow beyond a dark border, the noiseless descent of radiant energy slipping past our point of view. It is marked by vibrant pinks, dazzling gold-lined clouds, and untamed oranges that fade into wispy violet, and disappears into the inky stain of true purple and finally, winks out of sight beyond a black curtain embroidered with lacey white constellations. A sunset is hope, the reminder that our darkest hours are upon us only because we are beyond the view of the light that guides us; that they will only last as long as it takes for hope to rise again on a different horizon. The noise and passion and fire associated with a sunset lives exclusively within ourselves.