The Setting Sun

Sunset is whimsy on a majestic scale.

Gaia, God, Mathematics; the agent is not relevant.

A sunset is not structured like the lines of a flower,

nor imposing like a distant mountain.

A sunset is not immortal like the restless ocean lapping at a white chalk or black basalt cliff.

Smudges rapidly appearing and disappearing,

clashing colors not naturally paired elsewhere,

clouds stretched too thin or clumped thickly like happy little accidents –

these are what a sunset is.

An impermanent frivolity of ancient powers,

proof that the act of art is as old and sacred and potent as is it form.

Men and women look up at the glorious burning sandcastles in the sky

and they remind us, this evening:

            Make something beautiful.

            Burn it, share it, give it away.

            It was the act that mattered.