This is my favorite time of day.
Golden light. The horizon ablaze as if the hills were on fire. The third of temperatures in the 90’s. Desperately I have pulled the curtains, shutting out my beloved ocean if only for an hour or two. The late afternoon sun is relentless here in the canyon. It’s 6:16 and still no relief. Through every crack of pulled curtains, blocks of amber, golden coins scattered and thrown landing here and there. The tips of my daughter’s hair….the dog permanently laid out in front of the fan…a vase of yellow roses wilting at the door. They will not pass the night. It’s hot today. Hot and lazy and Sunday. I love Sundays.
My girl reads aloud… Black Beauty, while I cook.
Feeling anxious, as I always do on Sunday evenings.
Feeling I have allowed the weekend to slip away unproductively.
The press of the week ahead held at bay, if only for a few more hours.
I pause, allowing myself to be gloriously, glowingly distracted by this light.
This screaming fireball descending into the sea, ravenously devouring my mountain, licking the tips of my hills, caressing her leaves, baptizing my shoulders, washing crimson the wooden piano bench, the ivory keys, the alabaster Buddha… on the mantle. Oh…. it pains me to look away, even to write this.
And…….. there it goes.
And unto thy watery depths, I cast my heart prayers…… my tomorrow fears… the awful heat of this day.
A promise of relief.
The clear, halting voice of my daughter, now, as I correct her. “Squire John, not square John.” And in its space, this now place, my Hallelujah Horizon barely recalled.
Back to dinner. The dog barks in the background.
I think tonight, black beans and rice. A cool crisp salad.
Maybe I’ll do some cornbread. No. It’s too hot to bake.
