I have seen the slow sunset descend in the music of the summer winds. Night falls as if the sky tunes in on a single scene of darkness used over and over again, one of God's curtains that never seems to show any wear. The stars — I can almost touch them if I reach out, they seem closer to me than some of my dreams. Turning, turning, the silver gears of the cosmos silently move the moon on its course. Then steadily the light grows from beyond the horizon: the sun awakes from the distant hills as if somewhere trumpets blow to herald its coming. The day that comes is too busy, there are too many appointments, menus, shops, offices, couriers, photocopies, and passersby. Stand still in the middle of a busy sidewalk; you may feel as if life is passing you by, and you don't know exactly to where it goes. I sit and wait for sunset, the same sun somehow new every day.
x