Sunrises and sunsets, when they are frozen in a single photo, might look similar and occasional viewers tend to mistake them for each other.
It’s ironically peculiar, because, after all there is nothing more different from a sunset than a sunrise; it’s not just a matter of temporal evolution, but also a difference in temperature, in environment, in spirit.
Sunrise is  more secluded, more private, mostly in summer when the sun repeats its performance every day at a little earlier hour.
Sunset is a public celebration, which people share all together, often from a table of a sidewalk restaurant, from a public  bench.
Sunrise is full of unexpressed promises; it offers a brand new light when the curtain of night falls.
Sunrise is often silent, only the birds change their songs while the horizon shivers at East to get open for a moment into a purple wound, from which a sudden gush of gold flows impalpably.
Sunset is opulent like the vestment of a cardinal, is seductive and tired like an already made-up  actress, is sound and impressive like the last  note of a symphony and then leaves us  on the doorstep of another night.
Still sunrise and sunset, for a handful of second might look alike, a couple of twins parted at their birth and condemned to never meet again.


 

Every viewer tends unconsciously to identify him/herself in the image they are
looking at, so the majority of people  think that a photo must rather be of a
sunset simply because people are more familiar to sunsets.
I feel sympathetic
with the ones who see a sunrise also in a photo of a sunset instead.