Some days, I feel as though my time spent with a word document open is equal parts writing and staring out the window. It’s almost like a natural resting state – in the breath between words, my eyes just travel to that familiar place – the tree outside, the lines of fences stretching behind house after house, the traffic lights you can just barely make out through the gaps in the foliage at night.
I’ve written about all of those things a couple of handfuls of times. Maybe this is just the mind’s unconscious search for a little bit of inspiration.
From the angle my desk is at, though, I can’t really catch the setting sun. I can see its fringes – the outer rim of the last brilliant burst before golden hour dies. It isn’t quite the same as watching the sun dip below the world, though – and I think it’s something we tend to take for granted.
Sure, say what you will about sunset poetry being played out and cliched. I can hardly disagree. But cliches are rooted in something – a common experience that everyone feels in unison and personally all at once. I think even the coldest of us would be hard pressed to watch the sun slip under the horizon and not feel anything stirring.
Even if you’re not going to write about it, it helps to just feel that sometimes. Take it from me.