Upon the wall of earthen reds, illuminating ever essence of hue, was a stripe of bright sunlight.
Sunlight is my aphrodisiac, the way those rays play upon your honey-brown skin, it is a kind of music to my soul, the one that tells me I have come home.
In the honeyed light of evening, the grasses appear to have blossomed with flowers of pure sunlight.
Sunlight brings a frisson of joy to my skin, one my emotions translate a new-day smile and my creative self morphs into lyrics and beat.
Dawn brings a sunlight crown, smiling upward at black heavens, feeling how the passing night welcomes her more with each minute and hour.
Sunlight comes as woven strands, free and united, flowing into a day it reveals and solidifies, making the world of our nightly dreams something so beautiful. Each tree is a masterpiece, each wand of grass something magical. And this is our world, our normal everyday world, the present with each rise of the sun that we can marvel at or ignore; the choice is ours, it always was.
Today the sunlight conjured the most brilliant of mosaics, reflecting from each leaf and wisp of cloud. It was as if there was a pure joy in the light, as if it were happy to create art where it shone, warm and steady. It was as the smiles of friends, as fresh rain after summer sun, something to quench and soothe all at once.
My eyes rest upon golden arcing rays, knowing the dark is far and ever lit by stars. It is the illumination that gives vivacious hues to this world of living art.
The early morning sunlight, soft and diffuse, gives way to the first strong rays of the day, the ones that bring true warmth. In this light, water evaporates in slow waves, waves that eddy in the gentle breeze, flowing upward to white-puffed clouds, ships of white in the blue above. The opera from the trees becomes all the more powerful, as if these golden rays are their conductor's wand, and together they are the song that calls forth the spring.
Sunlight comes. The air becomes sweeter; birds soften the dawn with their chorus; we breathe more deeply as if permission to relax has been bestowed. Already the honeyed tones have arrived and the day ahead feels sweet.
Come the evening time the sunlight brings a more sepia hue, making softer pictures of us all.
Sunlight kisses Emilia's lips to a soft-red and her hair to ebony; it plays upon her dress, alighting softly upon her skin. Sunlight gives her eyes just the right glimmer as she drops them to her shoes. But there's something about her that makes me want to see her in the twilight, to wrap her in the velvet black of night and whisper sweetness into her ears.
The sunlight is bright even in the icy cold; this the way of winter sun in these parts. For when the land is a pure new page, it reflects the rays to give a feeling of wintry-summertime.
The sunlight as a lighthouse beam, bold into the black heavens. Autumn brought her hand over her eyes, moving from one dreamscape into another.
There was an ethereal beauty to the sunlight, as if a layer of tinted filtering had been added in the sky. Everything was in honeyed tones, beautiful and soothing. Anna moved her hand through the air, watching her fingers. It was almost as if the light was amber nectar, flowing in slow and graceful swirls.
Sunlight flowed through the leaves above, bright streams igniting every gap. Where it met the forest floor, the last vestiges of autumnal colour glowed its hearth-song before wintertime.
Sunlight sauntered in, igniting shadows to vivid oranges and reds, for this was the intensity of summertime.
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