This work emerges from the memories and atmosphere of my village. At the time of Maghrib, when the Azaan rises through the air, I often look at the sky and feel that the birds themselves are joining in prayer. Their collective flight forms shifting patterns that, to me, resemble Arabic and Urdu letters, as if the sky is inscribed with a living script of devotion. Below, the ground recalls the red soil of my hometown, where bricks are stacked in open fields. At sunset, golden light sometimes falls on these bricks, making them glow like metal, though only for a fleeting moment. In the distance, tall chimneys cut the horizon, softened by scattered patches of grass. As night falls, faint red and yellow tube lights used by labourers shine like the illusion of a faraway city. In the foreground, goats walk home with their caretaker, grounding the scene in village life.