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Chasing Sunsets

The concluding colors of day violently screamed as the earth engulfed a reluctant sun. Amazed by the display through my bedroom window, I collected my camera, journal, and car keys before rushing into the brisk evening air.

That particular autumn, chasing sunsets had become a common endeavor, an escape from weary routine, and an introspective experience. It was not unusual for me to travel across several towns in pursuit of the perfect view.

I eagerly drove after the vibrant spectacle, snapped photographs at stoplights, and then turned off the main road towards a lake I frequented in solitude.

I strolled along the creaking dock, above the dancing waves and beneath the magnificence of dying day, and then sat down, my well-worn Sketchers dangling over the edge.

I desired to capture not only the moment's physical beauty, but the feeling this experience inspired: an emotion comparative to the pleasure found in laughter, incredible music, driving with the windows down, warm clothes from the dryer, first kisses, accomplishment, and meaningful conversation.

The brilliance overhead was both a reward for the day's triumphs and an apology for its failures. Although content alone, I wished to share this dazzling event.

As oblivious strangers passed hastily in nearby cars, I felt compelled to sprint to the highway, wildly wave my arms, and exclaim, "Stop! Look! Don't you see what you're missing?"

Ultimately I recoiled, realizing that I was indeed not alone; somewhere, someone was equally amazed by the glorious scene. Overcome by this sense of unity, my attention turned to the notebook residing upon my lap.

I lifted the familiar cardboard cover decorated with lyrics of admired musicians and poets, and then flipped through the pages of my life.

Words painted pictures of details the camera missed, and vice versa, resulting in a powerful combination of communication. After abundant four by six inch memories, amusing anecdotes, incoherent ramblings, and debated philosophies, a bare page awaited.

Thoughts erupted and enthusiastic ink collided with the naked surface. Fearless words fought the paper, begging to breathe and radiate much like the crimson sphere above.

Simultaneously, the lake dissolved the struggling sun. I saw myself reflected in the water, in the notebook, and in the sky. I identified with the stubborn star.

She refuses to rest, wishing instead to continuously inspire, illuminate, and erase darkness. Despite the inevitability of day's demise, the reliable sun faithfully returns each morning. Her gorgeous battles with night prove that it is from life's distress that beauty emerges.

As the decrescendo of day faded into silent shadows, I concluded my journal entry, promising, "Though I may never catch a sunset, I will never cease to try.." Satisfied, I returned again to the road and proclaimed tomorrow as my destination.

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