
It's the end of June and I'm sitting on my patio, sipping wine and throwing the ball for Charley, my Black Standard Poodle. As I look over the fence, I am facing south and not far away is the sea and Carolina Beach.
Sunsets across the ocean on the Gulf Coast are spectacular, but here, in Wilmington, NC, we see the sunsets across the expanse of the Cape Fear river, which is what you'd look across if you were facing west. I have noticed many times that the reflection of the sunset, especially in the long, golden days of summer, tints the sky on the coastal side and this is what I was seeing that evening.
"Red sky at night, sailor's delight.." as the saying goes. It promised to be a lovely day tomorrow. What I noticed also, was the remarkable speed at which the light was changing, shifting in color from rose to pink to violet, all within a span of minutes. And I noticed that the roof tops and the sidings of the houses were changing as well, and even the electric lines glistened yellow than blackened, like pencil marks again the darkening sky.
Here is a visual clock, I thought. A steady time lapse of illumination going to dark--all just as calibrated and relentless as a ticking clock.
I could feel time--my life progressing as I was swept along with the fade of light to dark. Indeed, we are all swept along with the tide of temporal existence.
It is a particularly significant analogy for me, being age 66 and soon to turn 67. I am reaching the time of my life where much more is behind me and less is before me. I am at the dusk stage of my life and the gentle, almost imperceptible migration from day to night seems a bittersweet reminder of what little time I have on this Earth. Days tick by, one by one, fading into night and blooming into morning and many times we journey through them, unaware of the steady progression and hypnotized by their repetition.
And suddenly it was dark and I could barely see Charley with his ball, begging me for one more toss.
I've always been fond of the translated poems of the great Persian poet, Omar Khayyam. Even as a kid, with infinity before me, I was stung by the beauty of his understanding of temporal existence and how fleeting life is.
"Come, and in the Fire of Spring,
The Winter Garment of Repentance Fling,
The Bird of Time has but a little way to fly,
And, lo, the Bird is on the wing."

