The windows and world outside, at 8:35 p.m., were just drenched in pink. Some evenings it's peach. Sometimes it's lemon yellow and rose. Why does the sun go down so beautifully? I never get tired of looking. I never get tired of thinking to myself, "This is the only time in the history of the universe that the sky will be this exactly this way." And loving it as long as it lasts.
And no one sees it in the same way, either. Therefore I think that the sunset might be a personal gift to each of us. Maybe God knows that each of us, in our own way, has had a hard day. He knows life is hard. He knows all about it. Maybe the sunset is his flag ("I'm over here! I'm here!") or his beckoning ("Over here! Look over here!"). Or it's his painting, and he's hung it for us, and wants us to enjoy it, because he's the artist.
Of course there's some kind of explanation involving dust, molecules, isobars, and so on, but nobody has ever explained to me why each one is different. I've decided to stop asking and just look.