I wish I could swallow the light from this golden hour. I figure if I could swallow it I could capture it somehow, forever united with it. But since I can't, I snap pictures. Lots and lots of pictures.
Tonight's clouds reminded me of long, lean dragons, floating lazily over the vast ocean. When the sun sank into the sea, I imagine it shot light through the water, turning it into a body of undulating liquid gold. The water burned and gleamed, and the scales on the dragons' bellies caught its light and began to glow like embers.
The dragons weren't expecting this. "Whoa, Myrna!" one said to his companion. "My tummy's feeling really toasty now!" I think the cure for dragons with stomach aches is to hover over the ocean during the sunset, allowing its liquid warmth to sooth their tummies like a giant hot water bottle. I'll make the suggestion to the next cloud dragon I meet.
Several minutes after the sun has set, the rest of the sky bursts into flaming color.
Even clouds on the eastern horizon catch the light, forming a 360-degree ribbon of electric pink, purple and tangerine. I like to think our ridge-top enjoys a colorful cloud hug each night.
About fifteen minutes into the sunset the cloud dragons disappeared and blazing jeep tread marks appeared. God and his kids must have been off roading through the sunset tonight. I bet they had a grand ol' time.
Sometimes, after the sky has faded, I feel a little achey, like I've lost something special. But then the valley lights flicker below, one here, one there, until the horizon is flickering with little galaxies and I don't feel achey anymore.
Once the valley is full of light, I go back into my bungalow where I listen to the breeze rush through the trees, and I notice how it sounds like ocean waves.
Peace and hugs to you, my friends.
© by scj