Missing

It was only six weeks ago that I was sitting on the beach, soaking in the rays at Presque Isle as the sun went down. Third best sunset in the world, and I believe it. It was that night anyway. Maybe it was the company. Old friends bring a light that not even the sunset can rival, and a comfort too. But I digress. The time was 8:39. The rays played on the water, dancing with the waves. Folks stood with cameras ready. Lovers walked hand in hand. Kids frolicked in the breakers that kissed the shore. The sun sank into the greedy lake right on schedule. Movement which seemed imperceptible at first took hold of the fireball and pushed it over the brink.

Six weeks have passed and the world has been spinning. Or is it me? That night on the beach, sand between my toes, sweatshirt guarding against the coolest August on record, seems like a dream. The calendar has pushed the fireball to an earlier bedtime. The time is 7:31. Those children not asleep already are well on their way. No pictures of September sunsets, and no lovers killing time. Now a rush to pack lunches and finish homework and ready outfits for the next day. The whole world seems busy. No time to help the sun sink gently to the water these days.

And I miss it, that evening on the sand. I miss the laughter of friendship and the quiet of security against a backdrop of nature’s award-winning show. I long for the freedom of summer nights, seemingly endless hours to drink in the sights and the jokes and the peace. I grieve the missing daylight hours and the way the sun lingered and left me breathless that night. I’ve lost more than an hour of light, I think.