RSS SPIRIT

Oh that





I walk down the street and try not to become overwhelmed by the sunset. I walk 3 miles west toward a falling sun at dusk. I definitely recommend a long west walk at the end of the day as you get to see all the colors and changes as dusk starts to smell twilight. I try and resist these photographic tableaus of urbanity at day's waning. The elevated train curls around a grand stone art deco monstrosity whose stone skin is lustrous with clear orange sun.

Later I still resist a meadow by the train tracks where a nesting bird flutters the same five mellifluous notes to his lover over and over. The cockiness of the chirp makes me think male. It is low lying river land here, in the sky in front of me a purple tinges yellow clouds, a silhouette of an old rooftop water tower, an aching arching light skipping over us on its way away for the day.

The sun is hidden at a six-way intersection. I consider the fact that my direct sunlight might be through. But as I turn up the diagonal street I remember the bridge over the highway. It will take me over the roofline and back into the sun. I resist its seduction futilely as I ascend the cement arch. That old devil orange ball hangs with prettifying clouds skittered around. It casts a last gasp warmth on me and a woman on a small balcony above.

The sun hits me at least 4 more times before I get home. On another bridge, then another, then in a crack between two buildings by the interstate exit. Each time resplendent and ridiculously beautiful. I pray to whomever for the typical things: money, family, love and every once in awhile a chance to graciously walk the sun out of the city and wish it safe return until dawn. (I will take its rise tomorrow on faith as I will be asleep upon its arrival.)

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