One last expression

Tonight there were seven swatches of color hiding in the East out of the way of gaudy Sunset - the first was a hopeful newborn blue that would grow up into midnight black but didn't know it yet,
the next one was an imperceptible violet like spring asleep which bled into rose, very tender. After that it was almost too much, the fourth a retiring orange like God's glory veiled, the fifth the yellow of babylonian gold, and then the sixth a benediction from the ceiling of a holy chapel - a hopeful faint palor of spring, like the dream-of-a-robin's-egg-blue. And then the final, the perfect seventh, was not a color but the absence of it - the journey at its beginning, as if this swathe of light has not glimpsed its fate, the dying sun, the diminishing strength of today.

I stood and watched and breathed, and then walked on. By the time I had my key in the door, darkness had fallen.

But I will remember that one last expression of faithfulness from the Creator God.