One calm afternoon, the city slowly rested from the boisterous afternoon. The buildings are neatly lined up like ranks waiting for farewell from the sun. The sky above they turned into an extraordinarily beautiful natural canvas. Thin clouds transformed into soft strokes, such as the painting of the hand winds that dance softly between light and shadow.
The Sun which is not completely visible, only leaves a trace of its rays with a golden tinge that slipped in the gap of the clouds, warm the blue sky that began to fade. Clouds form patterns like a frozen sea waves in the air, making anyone who looks stunned in silence.
A child stands on the balcony of the apartment, holding a cup of warm brown, his eyes can not be separated from the sky. He smiled, as if he knew that dusk was different - more calm, deeper, and more alive. He whispered softly to himself, "Today's sky is like telling a secret story ..."
And indeed, dusk is never really the same. But that afternoon, the sky spoke softer than usual. He talks about beauty in silence, about hoping that never disappears even though the day began to get dark.
