One is grateful. Particularly for reminders like these.

This was my early evening sunshine, blue and green where yours was yellow. I, too, heard the sighing of the wind in the tall elephant grass foregrounding the volcano. The sound that wafted its way uphill the susurration of a town settling into dusk. I am grateful for times like these.

I often wonder what this life is like, for someone in a distant hemisphere, and a more northerly latitude. This planet is infinite in its own way, although when viewed from the desolation of the lunar landscape, an existential angst could be conjured—we are so, so small, and our home planet so delicate. When the sun disappears for you, it rises for me. This is a moment repeated countless times all over our tiny blue sphere, for so many, whether dreaming or awake.

We are all grateful for the pauses, the sheen of dark light on smooth water, the connections made.