I wish more people were watching the sunset right now. This one is especially miraculous. Every so often, at each break of clouds, the sun peeks out and winks. There are beautiful scarlet thunderheads that turn purple at the edges, piercing the cirrus. Too much cacophony for one set of ears up here. The roar of cars you cannot see, a chainsaw, a squealing dog who jumps and clamors up the wire fence, having a temper tantrum. The most overwhelming this is the roar, though. It sits beside your ears like residue. It is everywhere. There is not a square inch of silence in this whole county, except maybe in the redwood groves near Guerneville, where the trees filter out most of the noise pollution and you are just left to the slow trickle of light coming through the dense forest.
A long thin streak across the sky, stretching over blank infinite space. I had no idea that the human heart could bear such crying. Such throbbing exhalation of air, such glorious chaos of the body. In the car I laid across the seat and dripped tears into the beige cushions. Sounds that would have been almost funny in a different situation. And they became funny. Between my smiling gasps and those which wrought me into a horrible ball of pent up emotion, I knew I'd be okay.
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