It’s a broad shadow at nighttime. An instant thing. First the blinding sun strong against the horizon. Then it sinks to a small sliver of itself above the tops of the mountains. And then finally, suddenly, it hides behind Mount Rundle and those of us below begin to shiver in the cold and wrap ourselves tightly in blankets. There’s the saving grace of a thin vector of cloud spread immaculately out across the sky catching that little bit of remaining light from the now invisible sun, and we shiver looking up, looking up. Looking up, and watching the magic unfurl from our dark shadow underneath.

This is our end of day.

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