It's April 2, and I had the great pleasure of being on a rooftop on the Gulf Coast at 7:47 when the sun set. If I get a good picture back from the experience, I'll replace the one above.
There was a crowd there. As the sun disappeared into a cloud bank ten minutes before it was due to set, the crowd grumbled and dispersed. Chances are, a lot of them hit that selfsame rooftop each evening after work to let the particularly warm beauty of that sun change the color and the tenor of whatever day they had.
Those who gave up too soon missed a particular bit of beauty. The entire globe of hot orange sun disappeared behind a gray layer, and, in what seemed like a heartbeat to those of us who remained, the bottom rim of the sun came peaking out of that layer, followed by the entire miracle. We watched it disappear, reappear (in reverse) and then melt into the horizon in less than 4 minutes time. Phenomenal.
A poem I wrote in 2003 on a particularly memorable beach day in Sarasota:
Ribbon clouds, ready
To disappear as dawn lights
Early morning sky.
Bands of pastel hue
Dance on the horizon when
Night passes to day.
The world bursts forth in eager anticipation.
Ah! The shore at dusk
Sweetened with the magic
Of God's paintbrush.
Sunset on a hill
Colored sky overlooks
The day retires slowly, drawing us into sleep.