She left after supper.  Just took her keys and walked out the door, leaving me in the dark.  I usually wait for her here.  But tonight, as she pulled out of the drive, I received a text from her.

I thought perhaps she was missing me already and was sending a little note with a heart emoji.  You know—just because.  But no.  There was just one word in the text.

“Sunset?!!!”

I don’t suppose it’s any surprise to my readers that I love sunsets.  Come to think of it, I’d love sunrises too, except they come too early in the morning for me to enjoy them much.

So, sunsets it is.

I got up from my easy chair and, taking a minute to get my equilibrium (I have to do that these days, you know), headed out of the dark into the twilight of a lovely, cloudy evening.

I walk about a block to the west of our home to get clear photos of the sunsets—because I know my friends really, really want to see every sunset I stop to admire.  And, they don’t want to see a pic of the back door to Patty’s house.

There were lots of folks out in the not-dark.  Walking, cycling, scootering (is that a word?  Oh well, it is now.), it was the perfect time to be out.  I really didn’t want company, though.  Which was fine, because nobody but me ever stands at the edge of that field and snaps photos of an everyday occurrence like the sun going down.

Truthfully, the sunset itself wasn’t that beautiful tonight.  I was a little late getting there; the clouds were too heavy over the westering sun.  The few photos I snapped weren’t spectacular; just a pinky orange sky, almost hidden behind the trees.

Disappointed, I turned away from the field.  Oh well, another day it would be more spectacular.

As I turned, I discovered that someone else was, indeed, standing at the edge of the field and snapping a photo of the sun!

The young lady, most likely a student at the nearby university, didn’t stay long.  A couple of snaps, and she too pivoted away from the lowering light source.

“Great minds…,”  I said.  I’m nothing if not a great conversationalist.

She laughed, and we talked for a few seconds about the suitability of the field for our shared activity.  I mentioned that I always go all the way to the edge of the alley to make sure there are no annoying power lines in the photos. She agreed that it was a necessity.

It was not a notable encounter.  I couldn’t pick the young lady out of a lineup at the local jail, if it were necessary (why it would be is beyond me).  We don’t know each other’s names, nor where the other resides.

But the connection we made is impossible to miss.  To me, it is, anyway.

It’s a little thing, I know.  Still, we old folks talk about the young adults of today as if they have no appreciation of the good things, the things that really matter.  And yet, here was this young lady, no older than some of my grandchildren, standing at the edge of the same field this old man frequents and soaking in the glory of God’s creation.

And in a season when, to some of us, hope for the future seems to be an insubstantial commodity, I’m holding tightly on to whatever I can grasp between my gnarled, arthritic fingers.

She turned along the main road, and I walked across it and back toward home.  But something else was tugging at the edges of my brain.  Now, what was it?  Oh well, it would come sooner or later.

I was back into the darkness of my house when I remembered the elusive thought.  I had seen a lot of clouds in the southern sky, and they had a little orangey pink tinge to them.  Maybe they were worth another look.

Back into the golden hour, I wandered, following the same steps across the busy street from the university.  If I hadn’t broken into a trot, that four-wheel-drive pickup might have had to hit its brakes, and it was clear the driver had no such intention.

The sunset was still mediocre, at best.  But, looking south, I gasped at the thunderheads piled high just above the horizon.  Purple, orange, and indigo, they roiled in the fading light.

It’s always a surprise to me when I see the clouds that are not in the proximity of the declining sun sharing its glorious light and color.  I suppose it’s because I think of clouds as dark and dense.

In truth, clouds naturally radiate the colors of the setting sun.  If there is a long line of them along the horizon, with clear skies above, the overwhelming coloration travels as far as the eye can see, around the circumference of the circle of sight.

And somehow, as my mind is apt to do, the lesson of light passed by the transient clouds reminds me that we ourselves are light bearers.

The light we bear was never our own.  We never produced it ourselves.

It was never ours to hold and hoard.

“Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.”  (Matthew 5:16, NKJV)

With a head full of these thoughts, I wandered across the street again, taking the overgrown track through the jungle behind my house and past the old barn, itself covered by a curtain of vines, all doing their best to help time and gravity bring it to the ground.

There are still sad things in this world.

It’s okay to grieve them.

But, grieving is “for a moment”.  The light is eternal.  And, we must share it—with our children and our children’s children—as well as with the world that is dying for those brilliant rays to pierce the darkness where they are waiting.

The Light has shined in the darkness.  The darkness will never overcome it.

I’ll admit it.  These were my thoughts as I went back into the darkness of my house to await the return of the Lovely Lady, who always makes its rooms brighter for me.

But, inside me, the light is blazing like noontime on a summer day.  I think I’ll keep sharing it.

Even with these clouds piled high around, His beauty will shine through.

It’ll be brighter with you walking alongside.

Are you coming with?

 

“If I can put one touch of rosy sunset into the life of any man or woman, I shall feel that I have worked with God.”
(G.K. Chesterton)

“…that you may become blameless and harmless, children of God without fault in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world.”
(Philippians 2:15, NKJV)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2025. All Rights Reserved.