July 11, 2000

There is one thing I have been noticing lately.  Sunsets.  Within the last few weeks I have been able to partake of some spectacular ones in drastically different but equally beautiful settings.  There are two that come to mind clearly.  One was on a Rocky Mountain top and the other was at the edge of the ocean.

The first sunset is fixed in my mind mainly because it was the featured attraction.  I was cinematographer on my friend Linda’s film, The Golden Hour.  This was our final day of shooting and the sunset was our ‘martini’ shot.  We had to climb a good 15 minute hike with all the camera equipment and actress up to Buffalo Point on Antelope Island in the Great Salt Lake.  We set up quickly and shot the action sequences as the sunlight turned everything golden.  Then with the silhouetted actress painting at an easel, I filmed the golden sun as it turned the sky orange, then red and then purple all in a matter of moments.

With only the sound of film ticking past the lens in my ear, my eye beheld magic through the view finder.  I felt my heart prick with the beauty.  I took a few moments to feel the emotion of not only the end of the day and the end of filming, but it seemed also to signify the end of some unfinished business in my life.   Some how watching the symbol of the sun drifting slowly out of sight made it not so hard to bare.  It made the closing of these chapters depart with not sorrow, but joy for what I had experienced.

Just last week I was on St. Pete Beach in Florida.  It had been a rainy, stormy day.  The surf was high and rough.  However, just above the horizon the clouds had cleared.  The sun was going to make its first appearance of the day just minutes before night would claim her shift.  Most everyone had gotten out of the water and sat or strolled on the beach in preparation for the impending display.  But not me.  I floated out on my raft to just past where the waves were breaking.  Then I rode the rise and fall of the ocean, alone and quiet.  I watched the sun appear, huge and red.  The sun was down so I could stare right at it and marvel at the lovely colors.

Again the sun sank peacefully out of view.  That time it was a bit melancholy for me as it signified my last day at the beach.  But, the sun again made it easier to accept as it seemed to say, “It is ended for now.  Let it go.  You can always remember.  But now you can wonder what will come your way when I return.”

I think I will focus on sunrises now.


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