The Last Light

There is no sadder blue than the blue of the world after the sun sets, and that color knows a thing or two about sadness. It is a deep, contemplative sadness, respectful of the recently deceased. It is the sadness of a sudden loss, but one that has long known to be inevitable. The world mourns the passing of our mother, our life giver, our God among gods, but is too awed by the beauty of her passing to feel any real pain. No tears are shed in the blue of twilight, no dirges moaned or ululations wailed; it is a blue of utter stillness, an infectious quiet that permeates to the core of your being. In that blue even the beating of your heart is silent, as your own life-pump pays homage to the ultimate valve of vivacity. Anyone who doubts the utility or beauty of sadness should stop and listen when the sun sets and the bright colors of solar flames fade from the sky—listen to the silence. If you ever feel blue, I hope it is that shade.


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