Sunset, Saranac Lake, Adirondacks, NY.
How many evenings have I waited through, watching my exposure drop with each passing minute. Sunset has no integrity. What may have been spectacular last night, with the same type of day, won’t necessarily happen today. Clouds are always a help, but not an absolute. Sometimes there's a glow that just keeps intensifying, with a perfectly clear sky. Then there are days with the right combination of cloud cover proportionate to sky and horizon to light the world on fire. If conditions look right, expectations rise. But there is no honesty. I have been set up so many times with what looked like perfection, only to see it fizzle at the last. Too often, the sky can go neutral in an instant, the clouds turning white to gray without a hint that color ever even existed. It's not exactly lying. It is more like someone pretending to be one thing, and not being who you thought she was at all. You wonder, when she's holding out that promise, what pleasure she takes in deserting you, in being unfaithful. On this night, she has my back. As the ridgelines become erotic silhouettes, I ache at the colors of desire thrown up--the heat of the yellows, the warmth of the oranges, the passion of the pinks. And sadden at how quickly they fade into that vault of ice above. After so many disappointments, I shake my head at how easily I am seduced by the fulfillment. I've learned not to trust anything, except that there will be a sunrise, and there will be a sunset, even if there is nothing to be seen. Sunset has no integrity, but I do. I keep returning, every time it calls…for the lust of it, I guess. But tomorrow, I will be in a different place, with a different feeling in my heart. And maybe I’ll find a sunset that doesn’t fade to blue.