Sunsets: An Encore

 Sunsets: An Encore

The show begins every night at dusk,
from balconies, backyards, the beach,
from potato or wheat fields, anywhere
you can see the western skies.

At first, the sun sinks slowly on the horizon,
round and bright, spreading its effulgent rays
of reds, yellows, oranges, tinges of violets,
blues, and reds with mixtures
of varying shades of grayish clouds
interspersed with orange light over everything.

The translucent picture spreads across
the alfalfa field where I am standing—
actually gawking at the majesty before me.

The sun commands the stage, as it should,
lingers longer and longer, deftly dodging darkness
until the last possible moment,
sliding ever so slowly, so methodically,
down, down, behind the horizon and then gone.

But its tailing light dallies even longer,
casts luminescent shadows on the far hills
on the other side of the valley,
first covering them fully, then descending,
leaving behind shadows until they, too,
are doused with darkness.

Still a soft glow loiters a bit longer
across the ridge of the mountains
for a brief moment and then shuffles away.

During the entire show, we do not fidget
or lower our eyes all the while
our mouths gape open and our minds
and eyes are mesmerized

by the flamboyant nature of the sun
as it crisscrosses the ever-changing stage,
in full glory and varying colorful costumes,
depending on where you sit

in the world’s theater,
and then receding like a retiring actor,
slowly, yet surely, inch by inch,
the crowd now standing
in unison, clapping
for an encore, knowing,
it will be
another 24 hours
before another
showing.

If we are lucky,
though, we move
our seats
in a few hours
to the east,
where the sun
will appear anew
in different hues,
radiant beauty,
and magnificence,
greeting us
like old friends,
like it
had
never
disappeared
before.