Even the sun seems to be clocking out for the day.

The sun melted into the horizon with a quiet finality that seemed almost deliberate. Its light bathed everything in hues of gold and amber, softening even the most unremarkable rooftops into something poetic. The hills beyond stood like silent witnesses to this daily ritual, their dark silhouettes etched against a sky that burned with fading intensity. Below me, the town began its slow descent into evening stillness—cars moved with less urgency, and even the air felt heavier with calm. It struck me how time here seemed to stretch and linger, as though reluctant to let go of the day's warmth.