The townsfolk whisper Tanabata wishes, pinning notes under the soft blush of yūhi (夕日)-the setting sun painting the sky in bittersweet gold.
Listen: cicadas sing “yū-yū-yū” as dusk deepens, and somewhere a child yawns, echoing the sound of ゆう.
Whenever you see Evening, recall this scene-a single stroke less than the full moon, marking the magical edge where day gives way to dreams.