What had been a day without sun

ended in a slow burn.

Light Fastness

Cadmium orange:

• Moleskine, 
• navel orange, 
• pumpkin, 
• Turner sunset or Van Gogh's beard or a Monet haystack, 
• bird in black walnut tree, 
• edge of a blown glass lamp.

Late fall burns into winter.

Equilibrium

I.
A moment on the road alone in late sun, the only sun on my skin today, except briefly to and from the car. Burnishing leaves and asphalt and trees and even the air, the sun a bronze sculptor. 

II.
Three coeds, first-years perhaps, hardened with that I'm-cool-now-in-college bravado. Every other word a machine-gun expletive spat out between cigarette drags and cruel comments about roommates. "This is what we &*@$ing do in Sewanee. We watch the !#*%ing sunset at Morgan's Steep," they shout into a phone, filming and sending themselves virtually back to Alabama.  

III. 
I turn one last time at the car, meet another coed who smiles and almost whispers, "It's beautiful isn't it?" as if she's in church.

Sun and Stone

If I could
I would live
in a small house
with a large window
in a small room
facing a large
sandstone wall
facing west
and I would sit
in front of that window
every late afternoon
to watch
sun make magic
and I would
be happy.

The Long View

I like living where I can see the long view every now and then, but I wouldn't want to live on the rim. Horizons have always made me nervous.

Recently, an elderly friend said, off-handedly, that she'd just as soon not be around next Christmas. I thought she meant she hoped to go out of town at the holiday. She explained that she meant she'd like to be dead. She hurts, she's sad a lot, she has lost her husband and many friends, and she spends a great deal of time reading or falling asleep in front of the television.

To her, the horizon -- an ending -- is beautiful. 

I will probably feel the same way one day, but for now I'd rather live blocks away from a view, on a gently downward-sloping hill, on a swerving road, surrounded by the woods.  

For me, the view is a surprise. May it always be.

Sun Show

For five minutes in late afternoon, I stood alone on my porch, gazed through a tangle of trees, and admired the setting sun brush the sky museum with pale pink, like a girl's ballet tights, then blush, fuschia and orange, finally deepening into maroon and indigo.I celebrate the upward gaze.