Colors of Evening

      This is where I needed to be. For such a long time I have been looking for this place where the land met with the sea, and the sea knew the sky. I stood on the shore captivated. As I observed the shades of gray in the sky met with blues and attempted to block the passionate reds of the sun. Red is a favorite color of mine, and normally I would have wished for more of them on this scene, but I was tolerant of its absence, for if the red were free of such gracious, beautiful clouds than my eyes would not have been able to look favorably upon the panorama, not at this point in the evening anyway.
         The tide was rough and choppy. The waters dark like that of a bleeding ballpoint pen. As I breathed in the sweet, ocean air, that black sea kept on collapsing onto the beach, chopping into my ankles, and soaking my jeans. Those soaked jeans constricted my ankles, attempting to gain control of my soul. They held tight to my legs, grabbing every hair, pulling me in deeper using the sensual pull of the riptide. And as long as I stayed here, in the ankle-deep waters, I could swear that I was only moving further in. Deeper and deeper, until those inky waters would eventually envelope me.
         But from the ankle-deep waters, where I was, I wanted to absorb more of the sight of the reds. That's all that the picture seemed to be missing, but so many reds at this point in the sunset would be so immature. I knew that if I waited then those desired reds would come into the scene at just the right time, but I had to wait. So I left those sticky, tar-black waters and took a seat on the vast white sands. Just observing it all and knowing that the most beautiful time of the evening would soon be here.
         I took the camera out of its black leather bag and turned it on in steady anticipation. I examined all of the settings on the screen's menus, and everything was fit to my expectations and my personalized settings. The camera was set up just the way that I wanted it to be. Raising the cold, plastic camera up to my face, I peered into the viewfinder, zoomed out, and took the picture. The screen went black only for a moment, but when the picture came up onto the screen everything was blurred. Instead of gazing at a photograph fit for National Geographic, I was staring at this ugly, distorted version of reality. I deleted that picture quite quickly. I then looked back into the viewfinder, steadied myself, took a breath. Click. This one had to be good. But just as the last one, this photograph was blurred and hideous. I repeated this process for a few more minutes, getting the same result every time. It was pointless to keep on trying to capture this moment.
         Angrily, I shoved my camera back into its black leather bag. My anger did not last long however, as I gazed back at the sunset. The blues, and grays now perfectly accented, instead of eclipsing, the reds and whites that bled from that gorgeous, distant sun. I could feel its warmth all over me. Even if it was 93 million miles away.
The white sands between my toes, this gorgeous scene before me, the cool breeze surrounding me, but that warm, burning, passionate sun heating me to the core. This moment was totally worth the evening's wait, and no camera could capture such a beautiful memory. To frame this beauty, and hold it still or claim it as my own would be utterly disgraceful.
          I think back on that day at the beach, often. That panorama burns in my mind still, to this day. And to feel the warmth of that May sunset, to gaze upon those beautiful bleeding reds and whites, to feel the white sands between my toes, to breathe in that ocean breeze, well, that is a memory that I hold very close to my heart.