It matters little where I am. It’s early evening, the first tinge of pink and purple sky, and I am sucked in completely. Searching for that red-orange ball of fire. I will re-position myself and crank my head behind my body to watch the sky, mesmerized by the beauty.
And every time, it is different.
I believe I am drawn to it because I rarely see it. Subdivision life on the outskirts of a growing town steal my view through the homes and trees surrounding my small piece of the world.
Why the setting sun? The day is coming to an end. I’m ready to be still and when my eyes see its going down, a quietness fills the empty places of me, left undone by the business of my day, acts of loving service to my family and the absence of time.
I’ve seen the sun meet the ocean in Hawaii, the never-ending expanse of sun drenched sky in Wyoming, a blazing orange fire tuck behind mountains in Ethiopia, and in the grand backyard of my childhood country home. Each place was different, unique, mesmerizing.
The evening light seems bigger. It’s light softer, not blinding.
Blue skies begin to streak with colors I can’t adequately describe. I am wondering, is this a glimpse of heaven?