I walk downstairs and round the corner to go pick up our takeout, Chinese, and the sun is finishing up a spectacular setting thing that it's clearly been working on for a while. A molten puddle of gold settles down past New Jersey and the sky gets all pale blue wistful and airbrushed like something out of Maxfield Parrish.
There's a touch, a soupçon, of meaning in the air, and it seems to have something to do with remembering the past, a momentary pause where all the sunsets that touched my heart and quieted my mind enjamb one another and combine into a single moment where there is no time: Arizona, Manhattanhenge, Astoria, Kew Gardens, Paris, Morocco, Brooklyn - all one, suspended in me.
In crossing the street to the takeout place I ignore the light and almost step out in front of a car before I catch myself and jump back onto the curb, into reality.
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