West

The sun’s dulled orange rays bat my eyelids. Though millions of miles off, it never ceases to heat our blood. Facing west, I take in the sunset. The boardwalk is oddly unoccupied all except for me sitting on a bench under one of the awnings along it’s course. Every now and then a jogger rhythmically strides by setting a momentary tempo for the world at that instant. They furl the music into waves with the coming and going of their footsteps when really the next forty minutes or so is just a decrescendo as our part of the world slips under the veil of space.
Slowly I part my eyes and I’m suddenly flooded with color. Scanning the horizon, now a silhouette, my gaze ascends into the clouds which seem to be absorbing the sun. Mixing themselves with the fiery energy they turn infinite shades of pink and orange and purple.
I stand from the bench and walk to the boardwalk’s edge to see the water stretched out before me like shimmering gold foil. The heat wraps me up. Another jogger runs by and the particles stretched below take to the movement, dancing on the water.
Only the evening sun provides this warmth. Aye, the morning sun starts the world nonetheless, but it is harsh and waking. Pink, puerile, and cleansed, it has not a million worries, but as it travels it ripens and attains its girth.
Facing west, I smile and stand patiently as the sun takes mine and others’ guilt and tucks it away. I can feel it being emptied from me, my burden, and I start to walk home. I live to the west of here and am thankful, at least, that I can follow in the sun’s stead and be tucked away until tomorrow when he rises from the sea.