The Dimming of the Day

Tonight my fireside is blazing beautiful orange and yellow-blue. Through the many windows, the orange, splashed with pink and lavender, is continued in the sunset over the North Sea. There are wisps of rain streaking down to the grey sea in the distance. Cold is approaching outside, warmth is filling the Salmon House inside. A program called Transatlantic Sessions is playing loudly. Beautiful blues with Celtic overtones, played by a mixture of American and Scottish musicians, fills the room. I am seated in a red leather club chair, watching my new, year old Shepard dog, Sam, curled up at my feet with his head on the hearth. I sip at my second gin and grapefruit juice, sinking deeper into the music. This is a moment of extreme beauty and peace...and, oh yes....gin.  Today, I scattered the ashes of my wife Margie on the beach at Gamrie. She died two years ago. I also layered the ashes of Jack, her German Shepard, over her. He passed this last summer. It was a rare, blue sky day on the beach. Much of the sand had been washed away this winter by destructive wave action. The golden sands are gone and the red, sandstone rock bed is stripped bare and exposed... still beautiful, but colder and hard. Since I started to write this, the sky has gone to the deepest blues, and Orion is in his commanding position over the harbor. I wonder if Galileo, when he fell in love, saw the stars in his night sky differently. I am doing fine Margie, but I always still need you at the dimming of the day.