The sun doesn’t set.
It disappears as we spin onward and in place, all at once.

It rests there, just beyond the horizon, hidden from searching eyes.

It melts and spills over creep crawling earth.

Coating bay waters, rushing sands, splicing scrub pines.

We feel its residual light.
We see the shadows left behind.
The fuzzy soft edges to what was clear and sharp.

Where we can no longer see, we now listen and feel.

There is a softening. There is a spreading.

The light washed forth as a bucket of water tossed upon a floor of stone,
up and over and between and through.

We take what we are given.
A sunset, a moonrise.
We take what we are given

and rest in.

Sending love and rest your way,
Rachel