Recently, I was at the beach with my husband when I received a text from a relative I rarely hear from that said “Hi, I was just thinking about you.”
“Hi, I’m watching the sunset,” I jotted in reply.
“Send me a picture!” he said. And then it hit me. He probably hasn’t seen a real live sunset in years.
To some, taking notice of the setting sun is not a daily ritual, and it may not matter much at all.
To others blessed with sight and the gift to really see, it is a luxury to have the time to watch it, a person to share it with, or even the wherewithal, freedom, or view to see it.
This time of year, I take notice of the sun setting further and further south on the western horizon as daylight wanes until this upcoming winter solstice. At Christmastime, it’ll start moving back north again.
The above print, Between, is dedicated to all of us who wish to see a sunset, but can’t. My relative can’t because he is institutionalized.
In the scheme of things, we spend a lot of time “between” something. Our birth and death for instance, overwhelming joy or sorrow, or some beginning and ending, like day and night.
It’s all good though, when we can understand the big picture, know that the stars are still out there even when you can’t see them, that the earth is still spinning even when you can’t feel it. Between the past and the future, like most all opposites, is a middle ground: the unspeakably profound here and now.
The earth is spinning! Our sun is a star!
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