Tranquil Twilight, Beautiful

Is it the easel of hues that makes the golden hour...golden? Is it the citrus, the wine stains in the canvas of the sky that speak of twilight, that bring this crepuscular wonder with the setting sun? Does the sun drag the sky down like a window shade by a string, or does the night fall like a drowsy lid of an eye that readies itself to flutter in dreams? What brings this tranquil feeling to set down, fold its wings on the fountain sculpture in the garden of my heart? Do we need to know? Or have we learned by all the time of the busy day that some questions sit better as questions in our tired heads, that some answers cancome, like rain, another day.