a Week's Worth of Sunsets

MONDAY.

The sky is odd this evening I note. The pale blue that encompasses most of the atmosphere eventuates into green, a quite nice but pale green. It is an odd color for the sky. Beneath that is a thin yet bright strip of yellow. The color that usually dominates a sunset covered sky. That then moves graciously into a light and peach-reminiscent orange which crowns the horizon the full way around. I love the sky - a sunset sky. I watch it, every day without fail. It comes from my grandfather, I have been told. My mother says it every time I see her, without fail. Half an hour every night - the sky is my solace in what is fast becoming a monotonous existence.

The sky is always changing. Every year, every week, every day, every hour. The sky is ever changing and I just cannot get bored of it.

I shift my feet to the right and hear the crunching protest of the grass and feel the cracking protest of my knees. Old knees, too used to walking and moving. It does not hurt - it has never hurt, it is just loud and routine. I attribute it to years of climbing. Time ages all - all save for habit.

My eyes wander back from the brown dullness of the grass to the resplendency of the sky. The orange has gone into hiding along with the sun. Green creeps further down and melds with the yellow strip, giving it a nudge to move along as well. The blue above my head has taken on a darker shade and urges the green to go with the yellow.

I cannot help my smile as the colors fight to light up the sky. The winner is the same every night - blue will triumph. Only on these nights would the others fight back. Out of seven days, this one holds the longest and most exceptional battle.