“No one should take a sunset for granted,” Mike says as we walk to the beach in our slickers. It’s starting to drizzle as the sun casts a golden glow over lengthening shadows. When we reach the ocean, it is boiling in a vast frothy soup rolling and stumbling upon itself in great white crests. To our left, a flock of sanderlings dart in and out of the surf. They remind me of 1950s housewives shopping, wearing dresses, legs exposed, determined, plucking food off grocery stores shelves and running back out again. Nearby stands a heron, tall, stately; wind ruffling his feathers.
To the right, a solitary surfer attempts to make sport of the waves. Mike turns right curious about the surfer. I, however, would have gone left. I am more curious about the heron.
The surfer struggles against the ocean, but he is determined. He mounts his board and opens his arms to steady himself. He loses momentum, seems to pause for a moment, and falls sideways. The surfer repeats this feat twice, then three times and we head back after his fourth plunge.
As we walk, we watch the sun lower itself toward the horizon. Nature, especially BIG nature, like an alpine cliff, a shimmering waterfall, or a heron basking in a sliver of a burnt orange sunset renders us quiet. When we arrive back at the beach access, Mike is sullen.
“I dread leaving,” he says. His eyes are hollow, and I can see his mood has changed.
“I know,” I say.
Mike stares longingly out over the ocean. He is focused as he lifts his camera, shooting from different angles, trying to preserve the changing sky. In the dusk, the wind blows and to our left I see the heron rise in flight; legs stretched out behind him, wings flapping hard against the rising wind. I am reminded of grace and strength. The heron is out of sight when Mike turns from the ocean and lowers his camera missing the majestic exit. We follow the path to our beach house.
“The sky is most beautiful after the sun sets,” Mike says as we climb the stairs to the deck. The horizon is now glowing fiery orange infused with pinks and purples. Mike lifts his camera again and attempts to capture the glory. I think about the heron even though it has long since flown off. I feel strangely connected to it like I have made a new friend. Mike lowers his camera, wraps his warm arms around me, and kisses me lightly. The colors in the sky are fading fast. He sighs.
“No one should take a sunset for granted,” he says.
C. Jane Swick is a resident of northwest Pennsylvania, where she shares a cozy life with her husband and close-knit family. She earned a degree in journalism with honors and has a lifelong passion for writing and research. When she’s not crafting compelling stories, you’ll likely find her soaking up the beauty of nature, her ultimate muse.
Academy of the Heart And Mind 