Last night while traveling home from Albuquerque, I was studying the sunset. I was searching for that perfect turn of phrase to describe it, but being poetically deficient, I kept coming up short. Finally, I asked Savannah what color she would say it was. She studied the western horizon and then pronounced it "Peach."
I like the color and fruit equally, but it wasn't quite what I was looking for.
I have been craving sunsets lately. It has always been my favorite time of day, especially in summer. I love the change in light in late evening that transforms everything, brings out a glow from within.
My favorite sunsets I call warrior sunsets, those brilliant cloud-filled events that blaze up hot gold, as if Mother Nature is pulling the earth's energy westward, taking in all the noise and fuss of the day and firing it in a hot kiln until it turns bronze and copper and quiet. Then she opens her arms and sends it back soft silver, purple, and rose. I think these are particularly beautiful in New Mexico when the mesas get involved.
I can't see the sunset from where I live; neighborhood homes block the view. I try to go for my runs to coincide with them, but sunsets are made for studying, for watching and meditating on. I dream of finding a place that will give me back the sunsets. Virginia Woolf believed that a woman must have a room of her own if she is to write -- I'll take mine with a view of the warrior sunset.
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