Endless Transition: Night and Day

There goes the day, below the gaudy sun.  They go, together, quietly sweeping up bits and pieces of lingering questions and half-formed thoughts.  Now comes twilight and then night.  It seems a pity to end in desultory colors a day of such beauty, one that breathed cool whispers, implied passage, and consisted of infinite transition.   
This minute separated from that, one hour from another?  No.  An arc, smooth in soundless flight, invisible to my searching eyes.  I felt time passing, saw it in shadow and glare.

Time is only the rumble-less turn of the earth.  Time is not passing; I am passing, round and round again, riding this jutted and jumbled ball.  Time is light and dark and all their blurring permutations.

Flying past the searchlight of the sun's intensity, daylight changes to night.  Still flying headlong, rushing, the other side of the world is taking its turn from dark to light.  While I sit here, still, just breathing, the headlong rush of the earth goes on and on.  I am swept forth, even as I sit here unmoving, away from the sun and then back into its view again.  It is a fantasia, an escapade, a wonder, this spinning globe and our blazing sun, creating constant transitions of light and dark.

A wall outside, gilded so recently in sunlight is cloaked, darkened, biding its time.  There it is again, the thought of time, of measuring, incrementally subdividing evidence of the turning of the earth.  The earth will round again, and soft colors will emerge from the dark edge of night, and all life will ride on.  That gilded wall once visible through my window reflected the disappearing sun, then yielded to the lavender, gray and fawn of evening twilight and then no color at all.  One infinite span of color, time is all one time, nothing at a standstill, ever.  All is transition, all is change, we are turning, we are always waiting, to see the sun again.