On observing a sunset.

Excerpts from
The Diver’s Clothes Lie Empty

“The world wavered and quivered and threatened to burst into flames.”  
Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway


7:54pm.

As I sat on the grass, my eyes wanted to close.
To allow for the sounds to travel through the canal and let the auditory system lead. With my eyes shut,
I ‘saw’ people walking their dogs on leashes.
I ‘saw’ kids playing on swing sets.
Laughing, chattering, screaming. 

I sat facing the sun directly. Cool tones mixed with the warmth from the rays. As my eyes adjusted to the scene, I noticed they looked for something, a punctum. Thereafter, a feather was carried by the breeze. I could almost perceive the excitation happen in the physiology of my eyes. As it glided past the sun, it became translucent. I sat in awe of its allurement, but also of its insignificance; its triviality. 

…

The chiaroscuro lighting prompted me to think of home once more. I took a photograph of that sunset. The image from my camera becomes the moment itself. The memory of a memory. The image going through the retina merged with the image from the camera. Perhaps an attempt to reassign meaning to the now based on what had been, a constructed reality. I questioned which one was real, the memory, the moment that unfolded in front of me or both. Subsequently, I wondered what scientists thought of while observing phenomena.
Did they also think of endless distances?

…