The New York City skyline at sunset under clouds in silhouette.
I used to refer to sunsets as sun-fire.
Those first sunsets burned through my retinas into the innermost recesses of my mind.
Clouds poured over the smoldering sparks of orange like thick plumes of smoke and before the sun extinguished itself, it burned the brightest of any flame in existence.
When the sun sets over New York City, it’s as if a thousand flames dance across the sky, leaving embers scattered across the skyline in the wake of it’s burning: like a fevered dream scattering its remnants across the mind before the deepest of slumbers.
I used to refer to sunsets as sun-fire.
I still do.
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