The golden light fell across the fertile land along the Santa Ana River below my balcony and lit upon the feathery eucalyptus branches. The wind flapped through the palm fronds recalling a vacation to the Florida Keys and tropical breezes.
Apropos that I would be reading Hemingway’s Old Man and the Sea as the afternoon held fast, almost stoically to its place in the world. Apart and alone, yet in brotherhood as it binds day with night.
I’m grateful to be inspired by Papa’s brilliance rather than intimidated into silence.
I had a fleeting awareness of being their age, viscerally feeling full of life, absolutely in the moment. Satiated. A day behind you, in the golden hour before the blanket of darkness. An afternoon that stretches on like a wide sandy beach, welcoming adventure with an easy, languid pace.
Then, tonight without warning, came the quickening.
Each minute the sun dipped toward the horizon, the angle of light altered with dramatic consequence. Soft breezes became cool. Not even an alpenglow to extend the day. Simply, the afternoon gave way to stars and the evening-tide.