Sunset

There's a certain sense of exclusivity in the the warmth of a setting sun; as if it exists to focus it's waning rays into a point upon your body. It grazes the faces of buildings as it passes, making gold the edges of upturned leaves as it floods the city streets, searching for you.
It catches you, possesses your eyes. It makes you a being of light and warmth. It reflects. And all shadows in it are obsolete.