As he kept gazing into the horizon on the usual autumn sky; he felt his senses numbed by stillness. It was nearly dark, the far skyline giving a shade of crimson, giving evidence of the place the sun had set alter a day’s journey. This sight was not new to him. He would usually turn to this place in an attempt to escape his life. Its very isolation gave him a sense of seclusion so absolute that for the hour he spent there, his whole world seemed to drift away into a distant memory. There was only him, the leaves rustling in the late evening breeze and the setting sun.

Part of him wanted to write whatever he felt, to draw all this down on a canvas; so that he could share this image with the world. But he feared whether he would do justice to this moment and this place. The world never understood these things now. It was so intricately involved in its facile pursuits of wealth, fame and comfort that it had lost the ability to imagine. In a world that was so profoundly deluded, expressing his dreams and what this reality meant would be to taint their image.

Deep inside, he knew that the world would never understand him. That he would be turned into an outcast and be forced to live a life of solitude and pain. But all that did not matter now. For, he also knew that the sun would always be there and he would have sunsets. This life was not for him; you could tell that merely by the distant sad look in his eyes or his overly animated motions. He felt too much for anything……everything to be at peace with his life and be accepted.
But for these few moments before dusk, he did not wish to plague himself with all that. At this hour, he would pretend to float through time and space to a distant dream…..his own utopia. While existing in all the remaining hours of the day, he would live for an hour by these crimson sunsets.