The lake was quieter tonight. Fast ripples, energy from the wind, rolling into tiny waves, each motion reflecting a sparkle of magenta sunset into my eyes, a series of images concocted in my memory, my brain pulling out patterns left right and centre before telling me - which me? - the trends in front of me, waves rolling left to right across the lake and endlessly repeating the bounces of energy and dying light still so alive.
I sat down and instantly a beetle floated across my vision, caught on its back in the incessant flow. Large, some kind of maybug thing perhaps, I could see its little legs in the dim light from where I was, struggling to catch on to something, upturned and buoyant but madly waving, waiting, wandering. Was the beetle panicing? Or was this just the best plan of attack? I threw some sticks in to try to give it something to hold on to but missed. It floated, still on its back, towards a section of silhouetted twigs sticking into the water. I saw it latch onto one, but the waves seemed to get stronger at that point in time, and after a few moments, the beetle was on its way again, waggling and wondering.
Isn't that how we spend our lives, I thought, waggling whatever we can, and trying to catch something to right ourselves as best as possible? Could the beetle see the sunset I could see? If it could, would it care? If it was the right way up, what was it going to do - sit and watch? Fly off towards the sun? You can't fly to the sun, beetle, and neither can I. The sunset isn't a place you can go or a thing you can own. It's background, pure and simple.
I finished off the glass of wine in my hand and set about listening to the sun going down.