The winter sky is moody and ever-changing even in the city. The rising sun glows a warm orange on trees and buildings that belies the steely cold air.
The sky grows to a brilliant blue, then often softens to dove gray — especially in early winter when clouds quickly blanket the blue, sputter snowflakes, or spin a squall before moving out.
Winter sunsets fire the horizon unlike any other time of year. As the sun sinks lower, light streams through our southwest windows flooding the rooms with deep golden rays. I love that last burst of gentle, bright warmth and, for a few moments, I work in those rooms when possible — perhaps to write, catch up on paperwork, or even fold a basket of laundry. Soon afterward, broad strokes of rose illuminate the west, then slowly die down to pink embers.
Many evenings, in the final glow of twilight a silvery moon brightens against a pale, fading sky.