The Fleeting Sun

“Summer is over,” I hear from strangers on the street, in coffee shops, convenience stores. I was at Montrose Beach as the sun was winding down for the day, and there were no such conversations. Everyone seemed to be present in their worlds, in their respective getaways on the sand. Latin music blared from speakers, families cooked dinner on tiny grills next to the waterfront, young people presumably in love sat close and watched the sky and passing planes. I looked at the descending sun before I filled my glass with wine, by the time I finished pouring, it had disappeared completely. It’s the rate at which the sun left me that allowed me to be present, along with the other beach dwellers. I sipped my wine a little slower and watched the waves disintegrate one after the other.