At sixty-seven years of age, I've seen many sunsets,
and perhaps even more pictures of sunsets. So many pictures,
that I've long asked "why bother" when faced with a vibrant sky,
begging to be photographed by me.
Does the world really need another to add to the uncountable numbers?
The answer lies in the remembering.
The moment in time.
In the car, 70 MPH, little traffic, and wide open fields,
with only rows of windbreaks to alter the flat horizon.
With Charlie and Brooke to visit a Farm Aid Advocate in Granite Falls.
"I've been to her place before," I say.
All of us jabbering at once. Stories, pieces of information,
"look at that" outbursts.
And the sky, alive and blinding, moving gracefully from electric to muted.