I was sittig on the northern end of North Beach earlier, and it was a little chilly, and I bethought myself -- I've wanted to use that phrase for a long time, "I bethought myslf," Ha-a-a -- anyway, I bethought myself of the old days when I used to was a young boy and we built fires there on cool days.
There was a nice soft southwest wind blowing, not too hard, just enough to keep it cool and I thought that it was just right for a good bonfire. Then, I thought about what I'd have to do to be "allowed" to build one. These days you have to get burn permit, clear it with Parks and Recreation, call the Rangers to tell them what you're doing, and, in spite of the fact that sand doesn't burn, you have to have the mandatory two or more fire extinguishers on hand as well as a lookout down wind to make sure that sparks don't get carried off, so oh, well. The sun was setting as I trudged back to my truck, and I didn't have my camera with me. It was probably just as well, because I wouldn't have enjoyed the sight of the sun setting, and it was a glorious sight. I stood there enhralled, leaning against one of the demarcation posts. They used to have steel cable strung through them, but they've long since rusted away, anyway, I stood and watched the sun go down.
As it went down, the clouds in the far distance, between it and me, served as a linear boundary, separating the sun in two and taking it from a golden ball, passing it through the strainer of clouds and sifting it onto a reddish, almost flattened, ball. The distant atmosphere, like a magnifying glass, stretched the sides and it sank, as if dropping into water or as if squatting on Highway 181.
As it finally went down, the top of it peeked back to see if I was still watching, and I thought, "who needs a bonfire with that to say good night?"
I wish had the words to capture the feelings I had watching it go down. Even the seagulls seemed to be enjoying this wide-screen, technicolor spectacular.
Ted --- Corpus Christi
