The shadows grew steadily deepener as the sun dropped lower in the sky. The surface of the sun was darkening to a brilliant red, tinting the open sky a pale orange. These fiery hues clashed sharply with the rich blues and purples held within the roiling clouds. This conflict seemed to transform the sky into a vast field of liquid magma. The sun fell further, until it was touched the horizon, and in doing so turned the silhouetted trees into burning beacons.

With every second that passed, the sun flared mightily, straining itself in a valiant struggle to throw back the encroaching darkness. Yet for all its effort, it was unable to halt the steadily encroaching wall of darkness. In the midst of this battle, twinkling stars appeared, seeming to signal the victory of the night even as Nike, the Goddess of Victory must of appeared upon the battlefield in the days of yore.

Shapes and outlines began to fade, even as the sun dropped still lower, with the color rapidly changing from a cheery golden-yellow to a far more ominous blood-red that seemed to taint the very sky around it. The clouds pressed closer around the color, as if determined to blot away this contamination. The sun accepted its exile sullenly, and the clouds themselves were soon painted in that color as well, giving them the appearance of newly-dyed red wool.
Finally, the sun dropped below the horizon, after giving one final desperate flare of light, which for all its intensity, was nothing more than its last forlorn hope. Even as sky seemed to ignite in this final display, the last snatches of bird song echoed across the landscape, fleeing the gathering dark much as a ship attempts to escape an onrushing storm. The bushes and trees winked out abruptly, their bright shapes replaced by silhouettes that became far more menacing in appearance.
The sudden silence was absolute, with the constant hubbub of life disappearing instantly with the fall of night. Noticeable only by its absence, the complete stillness cut through the gentle setting like the edge of a knife, growing steadily more threatening. This was swept away by the arrival of a gentle breeze that blew through the trees, bringing the smell of the night itself.
As if the appearance of the breeze was a signal, the rustles of unseen movement began to sound, and a few birds flitter past, identifiable only by vague shapes in the rapidly dimming twilight. The noises resume quickly, even as the shadows continue their inexorable march across the horizon. In less than a minute, the only remnant of the sun was a faint glow which rapidly faded to nothingness.