I love sunsets. When I go to Mexico—or any coastline, for that matter—my mission is to catch every sunset, usually from a reclining position with a cold beverage in my hand and something utterly profound percolating between my ears. Same for the lake. There's just something about the sun melting into the horizon that makes me feel happy. Maybe because it means I've conquered another day and can relax before the next one rises to make demands on me.
|Waiting for the sunset.|
While that sort of esoterica is actually quite stimulating for me, I would never bore you guys with it. Nay, nay! Cuz without concrete answers to the questions of why and how we highly intelligent Earthlings fit in the galaxy, this pondering consumes two perfectly good minutes that are better absorbed by a good dirty joke and a coupla giggles. Case in point, your most recent two minutes here. Oh, but wait, I'll make it up to you. Have you ever read The Grand Canyon? By Bea Gapusi? You're welcome.
Sunsets, on the other hand, are much simpler and require far less profundity, which I would gladly utter if you insisted. I mean, I don't want to disappoint anyone by not uttering when my utterances have been requested.
|This is a dark and stormy sunset.|
And cold beverages. But, again, I'm not currently uttering profundities. Unless you insist.