Friday, 25 October 2013

Sugar Sundown

The nice thing about a teensy miniature school is that Mum and I could take the five children in year 6 on a school trip to the sugar factory without inviting anyone else.

We watched the sugarcane transform into rough golden sugar, which we were invited to taste (the kids didn’t stop at a couple grains like Mum and I did). The muscular men hauling massive sacks streamed with sweat, and I thought ruefully of the sugar I put in my coffee. The faint salty flavour I occasionally notice isn’t just my imagination, then.

This evening the sunset was even more beautiful than usual. The last few days, Kisumu has been harshly, unfailingly clear-skied, but tonight the clouds came out to play. The fading sun set each one on fire.

I caught sight of it from the kitchen window. We are gifted with a masterpiece of nightfall practically every evening, and I’ve become blasé about them, as if these concerts of light and shadow are ordinary, glancing past them to slice onions or boil potatoes. But tonight I followed the display upstairs, climbing the spiral staircase from shadow into a glorious rose-light.

On the roof you can see for miles. The sky was too poetic to be called orange: flames made tender, tearing at my heart. The wind rose, tangling my hair, and a quintet of sparrows flew across the sugar-gold sky with such exquisite joy I could hardly bear it. Light leaking into the lake. The sugar sundown set yearning ablaze in me.

There is more than what we see. And the unseen grows clear as the sun goes down.

Psalm 65:8 - Those who live at the ends of the earth are in awe of your miraculous signs. The lands of the morning sunrise and evening sunset sing joyfully.

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