December twilight

It’s 4pm, and the sky is a canvas of blues. To the east, a deep indigo shade while to the west, they glow with a soft orange, bleeding into purple clouds lazily drifting across the horizon. The air is calm, but the valley is alive with birdsong—a final chorus before twilight fully claims the daylight. A delicate fog begins to weave through the lowlands, where warmer air brushes against the colder ground.

By 4:25pm, the blues have darkened into a rich twilight hue. Stepping outside, I scan the sky, eager for the first star to reveal itself. Jupiter is already visible to the east, a beacon of light against the deepening sky, while Venus shines brightly to the south, steady and brilliant. As my eyes adjust to the fading light, the night sky slowly awakens.

One by one, stars emerge from the velvety darkness, their faint glimmers growing sharper. Then, there it is—Orion. The mighty hunter rises gracefully, its constellation unmistakable with Betelgeuse glowing red at the top right. As the night unfolds, Orion crosses the sky from east to west, marking the rhythm of a winter evening. It’s a familiar sight, one that feels like an old friend returning with the season, steadfast and majestic.