The rising of the sun, a sign of the start of a new day. All the humorous laughter of a son of man can not be hidden there. Beautiful is not it?
And dusk? Not that I hate it. I'm a little reluctant indeed with the presence. Hinted at the end of a story, leaving silence. There is no light so bright that it can shine on the earth, just a tiny flashing light that seems meaningless. Still the darkness of the winner, the cold and the loneliness are always present. Scary, requires that any story be stored. Either love or injury, or it may be a memory. And let him be the sleeper or filler of a dream. Until again I wait, dawn who pick up the sunrise tomorrow.