Saturday evening, Cocoa Beach, Florida
We pulled into a restaurant off of AIA, and just outside the local Air Force base. There was a nice outdoor area, along the water with a pier extending about 50 yards out. The catfish were thick in the water, since everyone tosses their bread and french fries and other bits of food in to see the show. Hundreds of fish, all trying to grab a little morsel of food. And catfish are, let’s say, rather ugly fish. They’ll be in my nightmares, soon enough.
The sun was setting as we ordered our food, and the wind and the sun and the clouds all belied the storm that was moving across the Caribbean. It will be here soon enough, but until then there are storm preparations for some, and Weather Channel updates for everyone else.
Just before the food came, I walked down to the end of the pier and watched as the horizon pulled the sun in. The clouds turned color, and the sea birds cawed, and it was about as perfect as could be. I thought of how the Beatles’ tune “Here Comes the Sun,” would be different if its meaning were to be reversed. I was, after, watching the sun disappear for the evening, as I have many times before. And, hopefully, as I will many more times in the months and years to come.
A new day holds promise and hope and possibility, and the Beatles were singing about that. But the end of a day is even more special, at least in some regards. It tells me that I lived through another day, and regardless of whether good things happened, or bad things happened, it stands as another chapter in the ongoing story of my life. The sunset is a reminder that I made it through the day, and not everyone on Earth was so lucky.
Tomorrow will be another day, and we’ll see what that holds. For what it’s worth, I’m hoping it includes a sunset at least as good as the one I saw today.