Sunday, October 9, 2011


 I love sunsets, who doesn't?  Poets use it to symbolize a going-over-to-the-verge, like aging, or death.  But as beautiful as sunsets are, so are aging and death.  Though as yet, of course, I still wanna be where I am today, gathering rosebuds while I may.

It's true one may experience a sinking feeling looking at the sunset as it transforms  from soft pastel to raging brilliant to dark.  But it also gives a feeling of serenity, of home.

I am so fortunate to be living where I have lived in the past ten years because I see sunsets from my windows.  The sky gradually turns orange just beyond, behind the thick leaves of the Norfolk trees, or on  top of the mountains. 

 I love it so when the orange and the purple interplay with the clouds.  Just because of this scenery I resolve that the world is a beautiful place to live in, and I don't wanna leave just yet.  I wanna witness a million more sunsets, anywhere.

Sunsets are elusive poems, they are never the same each time I look at the western skies.  How do you preserve the memory of a sunset when it changes everyday?  ##

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