A sunset
A sunset
The bells are hanging in suspense to my left. A great spire standing by. Behind me is an obelisk surrounded by a roundabout filled with people going and coming. Ironically or figuratively they are going around in circles. Spiked towers are across the Siene; aged brown stone in beautiful contrast with the gray. A mystery to me is almost every building, ever word heard, everything. What holds the most captive audience - of at least those unused to it- is the sunset.
Slowly falling, the sun lights up the sky, usually blue. And as I look up, it still is. Darker blue clouds are clumped around except to the west. There, they are purple, pink and orange. The Tower is proudly silhouetted but a large dome (another mystery) shines gold. The entire landscape is set off with a hushed blue hue- even my hands as I write this leaning on a street light pole. Dozens, if not hundreds, of people have walked by, most at least turning to the sun. A bridge lights up small bulbs underneath its railings as night nears.
The sunset is odd. It is not dazzling the whole sky, only a little. Two or three merged clouds are holding the light down in a spell, keeping the orange and pink contained like an oven. Only the Tower's very top peak is set against the dark blue clouds; the rest is in front of a now fading pretty assortment of color. Restaurant's have turned on their lights as have cars, buses, and the wide variety of two wheeled vehicles. A few boats pass on the river, their humming engines over powered by the busy street right behind me. Large groups of students and tour groups pass. Everyone passes.
The clouds over the light have started to lift but just a little and a little too late. It is too late for a spectacular show. The sun is all but gone- only a few streaks of clouds that linger behind this Tower. An hour ago, Notre Dame's front face was lit up brilliantly, the direct light causing outside shadows in the famous bell towers. Only the most distant clouds are still lit up as I stare West. Always remembering that a sunset is also a sunrise depending on where you are, I think of home. I do not regret coming here but it would be better with friends or family. Above all else, this city of romance would be best with a beloved.
People are still taking pictures through the sun is long gone. The Tower's lighthouse-esque light has just switched on. And... now! there are the hundred yellow golden lights that are strung all over its girders and posts. I suppose it may also sparkle in white this early in the coming gleaming twilight but that doesn't happen for another half hour and the street lights have finally turned on. Its time for me to go back now.
The bells are hanging in suspense to my left. A great spire standing by. Behind me is an obelisk surrounded by a roundabout filled with people going and coming. Ironically or figuratively they are going around in circles. Spiked towers are across the Siene; aged brown stone in beautiful contrast with the gray. A mystery to me is almost every building, ever word heard, everything. What holds the most captive audience - of at least those unused to it- is the sunset.
Slowly falling, the sun lights up the sky, usually blue. And as I look up, it still is. Darker blue clouds are clumped around except to the west. There, they are purple, pink and orange. The Tower is proudly silhouetted but a large dome (another mystery) shines gold. The entire landscape is set off with a hushed blue hue- even my hands as I write this leaning on a street light pole. Dozens, if not hundreds, of people have walked by, most at least turning to the sun. A bridge lights up small bulbs underneath its railings as night nears.
The sunset is odd. It is not dazzling the whole sky, only a little. Two or three merged clouds are holding the light down in a spell, keeping the orange and pink contained like an oven. Only the Tower's very top peak is set against the dark blue clouds; the rest is in front of a now fading pretty assortment of color. Restaurant's have turned on their lights as have cars, buses, and the wide variety of two wheeled vehicles. A few boats pass on the river, their humming engines over powered by the busy street right behind me. Large groups of students and tour groups pass. Everyone passes.
The clouds over the light have started to lift but just a little and a little too late. It is too late for a spectacular show. The sun is all but gone- only a few streaks of clouds that linger behind this Tower. An hour ago, Notre Dame's front face was lit up brilliantly, the direct light causing outside shadows in the famous bell towers. Only the most distant clouds are still lit up as I stare West. Always remembering that a sunset is also a sunrise depending on where you are, I think of home. I do not regret coming here but it would be better with friends or family. Above all else, this city of romance would be best with a beloved.
People are still taking pictures through the sun is long gone. The Tower's lighthouse-esque light has just switched on. And... now! there are the hundred yellow golden lights that are strung all over its girders and posts. I suppose it may also sparkle in white this early in the coming gleaming twilight but that doesn't happen for another half hour and the street lights have finally turned on. Its time for me to go back now.
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