You know, I can’t remember the last time I saw a sunset ’round here. The last sunset I recall is the one I saw while on an overpass in my hometown. That sunset is one of the best I know.
The eastern slopes of the Canadian Rocky Mountains are a sight that always fills me with awe. While watching the orange glow turn pink before it fades away, behind snow-capped peaks, you feel the grandeur. On days when sparse clouds hang low, it’s near impossible not to be amazed. You reach out for something more precious and timeless than you.
The mountains aren’t very far away, maybe a 45-minute drive due west. If you keep going for another 12 hours, you’ll hit the Pacific Ocean, rising and falling all the while. The sunsets on those highways can’t be treasured because you’re within them.
The ones you see on overpasses from 45 minutes east, though, they are something to see. Looking west, an expanse of prairie lies before you, until giant, jagged rocks rise out through it. Grass turns to stone.
When dusk arrives, on those special nights, the sun sinks like candle wax into the unseen crevices of that mountain range. You should never look at the sun, but how can you not stare? Bemused. Bewildered. Beholden.
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