cobble

The town's lights were beginning to fade.  It was a slow exhale.  Flickers from the window became covered as forms bowed to put out their lamp.  Darkness began taking its seat.  Small islands still held out longer then the rest.  Perhaps victim to a book, or an evening discussion that lasted into the night.  But eventually all succumbed.  And the town sat, on the edge of breath.  The village found a peaceful death, awaiting rebirth with the coming dawn.  Waiting to breath the air that sat upon the streets, and the hills.