Soft is painted the night. A masterpiece of black, on a canvas of wit; set against the indistinct stars. What a world I am in that it should grant me leave to wander under this arching entirety of endless possibility? Evening air exhaled from aching skies paints a chilled setting amidst a chaos only the release of these aching burdens shall unravel. So say farewell cold day into a frosty night and sleep in the halls of slumber till the claws of icy morning reach and touch the warmth of the living once again.