There, on the Shell farm to our east, was a soft, pink glow. I can sometimes watch the sun set in their windows, brilliant mirrors from this distance. I knew from the creeping shades of pastel reds that the sun was firing a pretty show just behind our house. I left the TV behind, climbed the stairs for my camera and was soon in the backyard with untied shoes, the strings stuffed uncomfortably beneath my bare feet.
Oh, how wildly the western horizon was smeared with the vivid shades of sunset! The sun had already dipped and enough clouds were still in place to present a canvas for this painting. Spread from south to north, the sky glowed with fiery shades!
The velvety blues and purples framed the molten oranges and made me sure that my time was not wasted. Who looks upon a single sunset without beholding eternity?
A few steps to the side and the picture, while the same, is changed. How quickly it darkened from this point on. In mere minutes the fire was out and the sky was no longer spectacular but merely a warm gray, the dying embers farther down and cooling. The night air, too, was chilled and damp and I pulled my robe about me and headed back inside.
Let me always find the time for nights such as these, though. Let nothing on TV be so important to keep me there. The sky is a more entertaining backdrop, the slowly turning world enough to change my view with every minute passed.
