As dawn breaks upon the silent sylvan, the sun pierces the clouds with a mighty phalanx of shimmering sarissas.
The ravens cackle their clamorous, cacophonous call.
The sun’s skirmish over the solemn sea of nebulous nimbi forces the gray void to a rout.
The radiant beams of the victorious sun permeate life into the sylvan.
The trees and flowers sway with delight feeling the sultry presence of their victorious King. That all-seeing eye of heaven, the sun, burns at a distance despite his ruddy touch. Then comes dusk, the inexorable coming of darkness, drinking away the vibrant vat of the heavens. The ebon ink restores the suppressive tranquility that intoxicates the sylvan.