Fire and water in balance, in communion:
flames and waves in equal measure.
It is a painting, or a mantra, a prayer or jubilant ecstasy.
Sometimes it is the desperate sign of toxins in the atmosphere.
It arrives in patterns, like a carefully woven textile.
On other evenings the sun sets in indecipherable codes, a language known only to mystics and poets, or to the unordained citizen who courageously listens in humility, with honesty, with the admission of non-omniscience and the openheartedness of a babe.
A sunset is the best impromptu art piece
but on some evenings it is a body of work or a movie in motion, apparently different masters rapidly at work in the heavens.
Existing here is memory or reverie, hope or faith, a closing down and an opening in paradoxical simultaneity.
It is a song and dance or the vast sigh of grief,
a collage.quilt.montage.potpourri.anthology.medley.ecotone.
The blazingliquidshift oozes and burns its way overhead, deepening at the horizon into a palpable beating heart.
An organism alive and yet capable of stillness, it reflects back a perfect mirror of all things innerlandscapey.
It is the expansive certitude of crepuscle and a night to follow, with the spiraling temporal motion offering its return.again.soon.
Blessed.
Glad.
Euphoric.
Paradisiacal.
Rapturous.
Felicityofsunset.
