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| This evening's apocalyptic sunset |
In the Bewitching Hour, 2:37 am
Something woke me up. I stepped out onto the lanai to ask the waxing gibbous moon why. The moon is red, yet it is not a red moon. The haunting beauty of a smoke-dyed crimson moon is a heavy sight. Local fires in the surrounding area make for beautiful sunsets and moon rises, unfortunately. The air holds a quiet contradiction.
But the moon isn’t giving up her secrets in this Hour. I’m content to just gaze into the void and feel the comfort of the cool air surround me after a sun-baked day. The Farol da Barra in the distance rotates, its light flashing across the horizon in steady rhythm. It too searches.
I’m watching a silent conversation between two beacons of light. I ponder that in such a seemingly heavy world the only response is to sit still and observe with graciousness. So, this has me thinking; one beacon warns of fires spread out across Portugal, and the other beacon guides mariners safely home.
No questions are answered, only a luminous reminder that grace exists in quiet intervals of a burning world.
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