That might sound like maybe I’m ushering out the old year in a poetic fashion, but I really don’t care about poetically ushering out 2018. It’s literally about the end of sunsets.
I see a lot of sunsets.
I have a 35-40 minute commute to and from school. We don’t typically leave until 3:45 at the earliest. Daylight savings is a jerk that makes it night way earlier than it ought.
Combine all of these things, and I can hardly avoid witnessing the sunset almost every evening.
Sunsets are pretty, yada, yada, everyone agrees on that. “Oooh, ahh, the orange and the yellow and the pink and look at how it reflects on the clouds!”
It happens every night, and it’s still this big deal.
I put that very cynically – sunsets are pretty, I don’t deny it. I just think people stop looking too soon.
The pastels and the play on the clouds and the half-moon sun are all perfectly pretty. But I find the very end – right before it falls dark – to be much more breathtaking.
The colors are richer. It’s smokier, reds and oranges, tinged by blue and purple and some green. Dusk is eating the last of the day. You can no longer see the sun, it’s completely fallen below the horizon – just the smallest hints of light are playing above it, translating into a brilliantly compacted rainbow.
Instead of the colors of the sunset devouring the clouds, the clouds frame the colors, their darkening hue a wonderful contrast.
So maybe this is weirdly poetic, in an out-of-character sort of way for me. It’s getting late and I haven’t slept well in a while. But I was driving home, saw the sunset, and I wrote half of this post in my head, and I’ve been heinous at posting this year, so I figured if I only have 19 minutes left to make another post for this year I might as well do it.
Happy New Year. Next time you see the sunset, watch it all the way through.