Until Tomorrow.

How sunsets teach us to let go, hold on, and look west anyway

Each eventide, as the earth exhales its own, measured timing, the skies usher us at last into the Golden Hour.

Each cosmic display no longer than a breath, an invitation no louder than a whisper.

Crimson beams pierce the veil of the troposphere, the heavens pouring their majesty down producing a magnificent tapestry of color and of life before giving way to cobalt, surrendering at last, to the night.

Often, my wife and I try to step out to capture its resplendence every evening, but sometimes we are mere moments too late, caught up in the tidings of our children’s bedtime routines and exhaustion that settles in the bones after a long and giving day.

Though if we are fortunate enough to make it in time before the earth tilts off to sleep, it often takes our breath away.

And dare I say, each time I find myself feeling rather insignificant under a monolithic exposition of God’s artistry and majesty sent from above.

---

I’ve been chasing sunsets for sometime now; trained to heed them from my dad, who, though never quite done with the day’s work on the farm, would always pause before the gloam. He’d turn west and the light would meet him there; color illuminating his face and sparkling his eyes as he longed for the horizon.

He’d pull out his phone and snap a quick picture to capture the moment, to hold a single instance of time to be cherished forever.

We won’t after all, view the exact same sunset ever again. It is here for a moment and gone forever the next. A digitally captured picture on a blue-lit screen may do some justice, but only as a catalyst to teleports our dreams and realities back to this particular moment in history, tethering us to a feeling that will never leave, far after the sun has faded to oblivion.

---

Part of me has always pondered why our humanity seems to so earnestly seek sunsets the way we do. Why, like a moth to light, we flock towards the source, as though it holds part of our very essence within it.

Beckoning us from within, a wordless prayer, a tender calling; something both peculiar and hallowed enticed by our very spirit to the Divine who calls us home.

Whatever it may be, it is for certain that there is something quite holy and reflective about sunsets.

We honor them.
We officiate sacred gatherings under amber hush
poised in reverence,
laughing among friends,
holding lovers close—
as every face turns
toward the final blush
of the vanishing sun.

---

A couple years ago, Lexi and I had the opportunity to visit Key West, Florida to flee the humdrums of the Midwest we call home to get some momentary reprieve from our then, only child.

She was only a handful of weeks pregnant with our son, something we both tried to subtly conceal in our many pictures taken together under the radiant daystar. We hadn’t announced anything to friends and family as of yet, and hoped it would be a worthy celebration to get to tell everyone face-to-face upon our return once more, to reality.

Traveling to the Southernmost Point of the Continental U.S.A. in blistering August heat may have been fool-worthy, and called a fool we were by some. Lest, we traveled and ultimately faired well, if not for the many commodities of the resort at which we stayed and of course, the sights and sounds of crashing waves and glorious skies that seemed to pour lavishly over us no matter where we happened to go.

You could have placed us just about anywhere on the map and I suppose we would have been quite pleased to have a little space — and a little more sleep. Yet, we had heard that the Keys of Florida were especially beautiful, and so in search of adventure (and rest) we obliged to the questing.

And in the halcyon pocket of the southern stretch, we were met with a way of life that varied widely from our own, one of both abounding energy and unhurried mindfulness. A place where revelry danced with reverence and hearts moved in quiet acquiescence, longing toward the ever-setting sun.

Every evening, sunset “viewing parties” were held at every western edge of the beach, on every dock, lip, curve. Multitudes of gatherers would cluster around, donning shades and thick-rimmed caps to be able to stare — if only briefly — directly into the descending sun. Sometimes small bursts of celebration would cut through the party as some used the last transient rays of heaven’s light to get on one knee and make a promise, eternal and true to a lover.

All shared a congenial motive, a joined declaration to the universe: I am here. I was here. I shared this moment.

Soon it would all be over and life would resume once more.

Until tomorrow.

---

I think, at last, this is the very thing that makes sunsets so magnificently alluring — their semblance to our own momentary existence: here for a moment, gone the next.

A timely exposition of love and of life and of energy and of wit before finally retreating to still, quiet dark.

Maybe that sounds a tad depressing, a bit fatalistic for taste, but I’d like to suggest just the opposite.

Sunsets, like our lives, may be fleeting, but their very existence is especially noteworthy and lasting. Even as I reflect on this, that particular sunset is not lost on me, but is instead forever engraved as a fond memory, a single moment in time that will always remain tethered to my very existence.

Though I can no longer recall the exact blend of muted reds, soft ambers, and faded ochres and where they finally conceded with deep blue, I will always remember my arms wrapped around my wife, smiling together into the void, our lives quietly shifting yet held still in that moment together.

And that will last far longer,
Long after the sunset
and long after we, one day too—
Fade to oblivion.