An April Sundown
My experience with an April sundown last weekend comes from the heart and utter awe. I waited with bated breath with the beauty I witnessed for at least one hour as the clear day turned to night.
The scenario I’m trying to describe is all while running up and down the sideline as an AR (assistant referee) on a U14G soccer game.
It was still relatively light at the 7:00 PM kick-off, but the LED lights were already burning and casting their light across the green turf field as I arrived. Tall trees are on the far side of the area, with the school, a lower-level parking lot, and the school’s baseball stadium surrounding the field.
When I looked up several times because the night seemed to demand the view, a few puffy white clouds pierced the deep blue skies as the light incrementally faded past the 7 o'clock hour.
While enjoying the awesomeness that I could almost touch, I felt grateful for this moment. The evening became enveloped by our rotating Earth and the glow of the fading day was extraordinary. And try as I might, with my responsibility of calling off-sides and out-of-bounds with the athletes on the field, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the unique hues and tones of blues and some purples streaking across the mid-April skies. The strata of all the striking colors suspended over the field and beyond for extended moments until the colors changed again, darker, it seemed in timed intervals until the ink-black sky finally emerged. With the fading light to darkness, a chill in the air arrived almost simultaneously.
The memory of that evening’s sky is etched into my brain right now, like when you finish a good book or a good meal that you don’t want to end.
Can that night still be called a sunset since there were no visible sun signs — but the most indescribable light streaks that don't come around very often — until there wasn’t?
bSoleille!
Terri
