Gold spills between the silver threads of ashen clouds, blurring the lines of land and sky into delicate twilight. The edges of the sky are tinged with indigo, just as the fringes of the wind are touched with cold. Fragrant wildflowers seem to blend with the damp grass and darkened trees as they fade into a sea of blue-grey, the natural colour of the world at night. The rain-soaked air is surprisingly crisp, and drifts through my silent mind to illuminate the memories of other nights calmed by cooling rain. Other nights that rendered me speechless, that soothed the skittish beat within my chest. The moon will smile down from her glittering throne within the hour, or two, if time will wait for me to fill my lungs with evening air and my heart with the fading warmth of nightfall. And time is the only wish I would whisper aloud if I could catch sight of the night’s first star, or if my gossamer memories move me so.