I went to photograph the sunset last night. I'd been planning on finding a suitable spot for it for what feels like weeks now, maybe months, and I'm happy I stumbled upon a place I'd never been to before. I'd forgotten about the calming, centering, contemplative nature of a sunset. I stood in the same spot for two and a half hours, in the company of my camera lens, watching the sky change colors. Clouds stretched out like cats and then vanished, a series of loose dogs sniffed curiously at my feet and, by the time twilight had fallen, magically transformed themselves into a nuisance of mosquitos; that's what a group of them are called, right? Nope, they're called a swarm. I like my name better.
It is only during a sunset one can stand in the same place for an hour, not moving, not doing anything, just staring off into the distance, without being perceived as disturbed or unwell. It is understood, the gazing, the glimpsing of the end, a death and a birth, something gained and lost. Watching it we bear witness to an existence larger than ourselves; a chance to read the last few pages of a favorite bedtime story, the passages of a celestial pastime, tracing time's painted brushstrokes across the sky.
A jogger had crept up beside me, her feet displacing the gravel behind me as she slowly approached to sit down, "you've been here a long time; I saw you an hour ago."
Yea, I said, I've been waiting - we all are.
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