Sometimes, in the moments just before twilight, when the lower part of the sky becomes stained in a deep orange from the setting sun and the stars have yet to unleash their twinkling delight over the world, time rewinds and vivid memories arrest all conscious thought. These moments hold magic for all those who can remember staring up at the same sky as a younger version of themselves.
I remember being a kid and spending sun kissed summers picking berries and swimming in the lake, carefree and happy. When the sun drooped down below the jagged mountains and that tangerine sky lit up my world, the family would gather for dinner around our big outside table and enjoy the flavors of summer. The evening would unfold before us as activity slowed, replaced by the contentedness that only a warm summer night and the company of loved ones can truly create.
A campfire would light up the night, and the wonderful scent would linger in my hair. The embers cast shadows on my father’s face as he sang his favorite songs.
Flat on my back, starring upward into the black abyss. Three stars make a pyramid, a cluster over there looks like a cat. There is no other light but the white, shining specks of fascination that have sustained centuries of dreamers.
I think about these days in the brief, stolen moments when the sky is tinted orange. I will carry them with me for always.
A Guide to the Rest of the World 