Got up early yesterday, drove in the dark to meet my brother to play golf. We did. Ate lunch. Came home. Finished the re-plumbing work I started day before yesterday on the well. Pressure tested it. It worked. Shut off the well and drained the water. In the evening before dinner, I drove to a spot I like just south of town to watch the sky and see what the sun would do as the earth turned. It did well.

Five people drove by as I stood beside my car on the lonely road. Three said nothing. One waved. One guy rolled down his window and asked if everything was alright. I said it was, I was just there to watch the sunset. He said, “Have a good evening, brother.” I did. It’s hard to explain how big and comforting the sky feels when you’re standing alone on a hill with other hills around and the clouds are low. You can’t look at it all at once. I tried. Even took a few pictures and they don’t even begin to tell the story.

Not to get all maudlin, but I thought of my late wife as I stood there watching the sky with a cool wind on my face. We were always looking for spots like this, places to stand or sit or lie to watch the sky, night or day. It was cheap entertainment and we enjoyed it and I still do. And if we consider relativity for a moment because we all feel it’s the sun that moves at sunset, what if my thoughts of her were simply her thoughts of me? And which one of us is really missing? 

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale