The Endless Wave

If you do not love a sunset, then you do not have a romantic pulse. Stop writing now, and go be an engineer.

For the burst at sunset is the release, the ejaculation of time, the close of a chapter, but not the book. It’s brilliance is a resolution of tensions, the sigh at the end of a job well done, the moan after many pleasures, the uncurling of the toes, the final kiss before drifting off to sleep.

The sunset is the day’s vainglory attempt at immortality, “I awe, therefore I am.” It is a wondrous apparition... the grandest illusion. It is an endless wave rolling across the round world.

It is a flagging Father Time’s response to Thomas’ heartfelt plea, “Do not go gentle into that good night... rage, rage against the dying of the light.”