The Last Few Seconds

The days are shorter. Darkness comes suddenly at 7:15. With little warning after the in-between light of dusk, the sky turns from evening-blue to gray to black.

In the fading light with only minutes left, dozens of runners come and go. Some are just starting, but most are done. Drinking Gatorade, stretching, talking, cooling down. I've got a boy with me, showing me his math while I stretch a sore thigh. I squint in the dimming light; he talks about means and medians and independent and dependent variables. I watch him talk, and I hold my left leg.

In the car driving home, we sit silently and watch the nighttime descend. Venus and a crescent moon shine between scattered shreds of cloud left from the storms of yesterday. In the west billowing thunderheads balance on the horizon, and the black cloud deck is torn open -- a hole in the sky revealing another deck of clouds above.

The upper deck is in flame, bright crimson and pink for just those few seconds as we drive silently home, just those few seconds after the sun has set, just those last few seconds before the black of night falls.

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