Keyhole*

Do not praise the day before the sunset. (Dutch Proverb)

This day has been unsure of itself, bright and glorious early in the morning, then shy and pensive throughout the afternoon, peeking out from behind the clouds which passed continuously across its face. There were no tears today, though, and the park and hillsides took full advantage, shaking off their tall grasses, straightening the flowers that have drooped and bent under the weight of falling rain, tucking the water safely down into the earth. It was only as the sunset approached, humid but cool, with a whisper of a breeze, like the flight of ghosts brushing across the skin, that the day decided what to be. And so, as we neared the top of the park and looked down on the sky reflected in the lake, a keyhole opened up in the clouds and all the gold that should have belonged to this weekend but didn't spilled out and ran across the backs of the ducks and pelicans paddling along the shore, flowed over the ripples made by the fish who leap and leave expanding circles behind, never seen but always heard, spilled over into the eyes of all the people on the trail and the hillside and ignited a thousand pearls of gold in their faces––the children who chased each other, laughing with the madness of youth, the parents and grandparents who watched them, the dogs romping through the damp grass behind, the lovers holding hands all around.

It would be easy to think this weekend a waste, the last weekend before school starts and hell erupts at the foot of my desk, but this sunset was worth the wait and apologized for the hours spent pining at the window with Duncan beside me. Standing at my side above the lake, smiling as he does so readily, I know he felt it too.

*For David, who just couldn't wait