Sunset Alchemy

Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon
Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape;
Trinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest
Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline)

There was a moment this evening, just before sunset when day and night seem to hold their breath, as if making a silent, solemn vow to one another, when Duncan pulled me down the side of the hill toward the lake. The willows and long grass along the shore stood at attention, saluting the golden light, every tip reflecting and magnifying it, taking what was given and somehow making more of it, turning everything into gold, a kind of sunset alchemy. Duncan, always eager and sometimes more so, led me through the field of reeds, shimmering bulbs and whispering grass to a pair of small wild sunflowers which grew no taller than his face. I marveled at the light dancing around me reflected from all directions, but especially from the water and the flowers, dappling my skin and dazzling my eyes. I could not believe I'd stumbled upon and become a part of such a perfect moment. And then I turned to Roo, standing as he was near those bright yellow petals. He smiled at me and as he raised his head his eyes were obscured by the sunflowers, which replaced and become them, brilliant and wide, unblinking and magnificent. It lasted only a moment before the ducks paddling nearby caught his attention, raising his ears as they passed. It was a moment I will always remember, my boy one with the field and the sunset and all the world rising up to meet the light shining around him.

"The setting sun, and music at the close,
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,
Writ in remembrance more than things long past."

(William Shakespeare)

The Bounties and Blessings of Summer

"That beautiful season the Summer! Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light;
and the landscape lay as if new, created in all the freshness of childhood."
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

I cannot tell you how perfect this night was, with Duncan, Kona and Melissa at the park, playing fetch under what was one of the most beautiful sunset skies I've ever seen, the kind of sunset only a child could draw, with rays of golden light breaking the spilled edges of indigo night into stripes, a luminous red seeping though and outlining the fabric of the air, igniting the quiet shadows between the deep of the trees. Even the dogs, tired as they were from chasing the ball, stopped and rested in the long grass and basked in the departing joy of the day and the ebullient chorus of coming night. The breast moon, fleshy and imperfect on the far side of the sky, watched over us, a flitting cloud of bats, circling overhead, angling and diving across the golden glow of her swollen, pendulous arc. There was not a moment that Melissa and I did not catch our breaths and sigh in a deep, satisfactory awe, pointing, our arms pink before us, golden auras glowing around the tips of our fingers.

It is good to be alive, good to have a dog or two at your side, and good to thank the universe for being able to stop long enough to recognize and name all the bounties of life. I am blessed indeed.

Green and Gray

The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain.

(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

It is lush and green and fragrant out, but the sky is low and gray and has spat rain in intervals throughout the day. Duncan and I moped together on the couch, his head resting on my ankles while I alternated between finishing up a book––Thirteen Moons, a perfect gray day read, beautiful and melodious and as lyrical as the patter of raindrops against my windows––and knitting the blanket I foolishly vowed to have completed by the end of Summer. Neither of us could quite wake up or summon the energy to do much beyond eat breakfast and laze about. The rain, from our side of the windows, was a crushing way to end the long weekend, which has been as sweet as strawberry juice and busy, too. Figuring we'd both go insane with longing, we made the most of it and ventured out into the park to play in the mist, dampening our feet and chilling us only slightly. We played despite the wet, rolling in the grass and running, kicking up wakes of water as we passed. Duncan was not content until his ears were soaked and the hair on the tall point of his head stood up in spikes, until blades of grass had collected like a wreath in the chinks of his collar. My jeans were soaked and my hands pink and cold but it didn't matter because we'd found a way to enjoy the afternoon in our own pleasant way, splashing the puddles and smiling into the place where we knew the sun shone even though we could not see his face.