Dec 18
nonfiction challenge: Sunset

Sunset

Sunsets in Montana are stunning. The way the sun dips below the mountains, hiding its face from us before it falls, the blankets of pink and orange and yellow covering the expansion of the sky, the edges of their watercolors blending with the twilight that slips over the sky, just at the top. My bedroom is located at the back of the house, and I have two clean, clear windows stacked one on top of the other that look out on our ranch, starting with the pond in our backyard and hopping over the deer fence into the valley, spreading out towards the border, hitting right at the edge of the sky. 

Sunsets in Montana are almost always marvelous. Only when I miss them do I deplore them. Only then do I resent them; because I wasn't there to see it. Only then. 

Sunsets in Montana are the highlights of some people's days. Mine, for example. There's nothing like sitting at my desk, palm cupped in my hand, elbow resting on my knee, as I watch the sun go down in the West. Sometimes, my mom watches with me. We sit in silence, her hands in my hair, watching as the sky lights up and then dulls, going violet-tinged. 

Sunsets in Montana are not something you want to miss. You may not like being outside, but that's okay. Like I said, sit inside and watch. It's a light-show, designed by nature, just for you. Don't miss it. Admission is your time, and the space needed to clear your head. Montana does that. 

Sunsets in Montana were the first thing I remember enjoying. I was so disappointed when we moved here from Idaho. It took us five hours, driving in our little black Honda, Dad behind us in the U-Haul truck, winding our way through spinning mountain roads, looking out the window as trees and colors and other cars zipped by. I remember when we first got here, the lights in my grandparents' house were on, and you could see their silhouettes through the window, spinning around the kitchen. Grandma bent over the stove as she took something out, while Grandpa jammed his elbow, leaning against the counter. I remember grinning, then turning on my heel at my mother's call of, "Stella! We've got to get our stuff in the house, c'mon! You can talk to Grandma and Grandpa in a moment!", and clutching at the baggage thrust into my small little hands. 

The first night, I was treated to a Montana sunset, cozied up at my Grandmother's dining room table, laughing in my underwear as my family visited, my brother jabbing his elbow against my stomach. 

I'll never forget it. And, once you get a chance to come here, you won't forget it, either. 
 
About the Author: infinitelyinfinite3
Brown person, LGBTQIA+ member, overthinker, and book and music lover. I am not afraid of the Oxford comma, and you shouldn't be, either. ;)
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