Today I watched the sun set.
For a process that takes place everyday you’d think it would be rendered mundane by now. But standing on a beach, as the wind caresses your hair with gentle blows, and watching the receding waves kiss the shore, you seem to realize that sometimes it is the things in life that are overlooked the most, that seem the most miraculous.
The sky gives you a lesson in colors. Perhaps that’s why every artist, big or small, has at least once in their lifetime painted a picture of the sunset.
I know I have.
I remember drawing the setting sun right in the middle of the page. A giant yellow orb with its rays piercing into the sky. I remember coloring its reflection in the waves. Longer at the horizon, and growing shorter as I progressed downwards.
I remember dabbing the waves with a tinge of black, to show the darkness that a setting sun brings along with it. I remembered the paper on which I drew and colored my first sunset.
But seeing it again today made me realize what I was actually missing. I missed the pink hues in the sky that faded away into the blue. I missed the golden tinge the sun’s reflection cast on the sand. I couldn’t capture, however hard I tried, the way the sun danced on the waves as they receded on the shore and the way the silvery foam tickled my toes.
And as I kept watching, the sun disappeared, swallowed up by the horizon, with only its rays lighting the sky; a meek shadow of what it was during the day.
But tomorrow the sun shall rise again.
For now, it is the moon’s turn to play.