I have taken a lot of pictures of sunsets in my life and as a result have become a bit of a connoisseur. They come in lots of different colors.
There are the standard red ones.
The orange ones are fairly common.
There are the gold ones.
Not many people have seen the blue ones.
Rarer still are the black ones.
Sometimes a bird would sneak in and ruin the picture.
Sometimes an airplane would.
Sometimes someone will step in and make the picture.
I have been blessed to see them in all kinds of places. When I lived in Zanzibar I used to time how long it took the sun to dip into the Indian Ocean. It usually took the same amount of time as drinking two and a half beer.
When I lived in the jungles of Guyana, the sunsets usually came right after the second rainfall of the afternoon. Parrots usually flocked and the mosquitoes came out. The sunset was a gentile reminder to put on pants and a long sleeve shirt.
In Haiti, the sunset signaled the end of flying. For a couple of moments it allowed us to pause and reflect on those who had to endure the coming darkness. I didn’t like sunsets in Haiti.
Sunsets in Eastern Passage are nice. I don’t reflect or pause to consider greater truths. I enjoy them like I would a cup of tea. They do remind me however that I should lock my car door.