Last time, I wrote that nearly everything makes me think about painting. Tonight when I was walking on the beach at dusk I felt as if I were in a painting. Like some eighteenth or nineteenth century world of colour and beauty. An enormous planetarium of sky and earth. The light was fading and the sky was clearing after a wet autumn day.
As I walked, the moon rose and banks of cloud on the horizon split its image until it burst above them and scattered its light across the sea.
My fox terrier trotted nose to the ground in his parallel universe seemingly unaware of this light show unfolding around us. He inspected seaweed and old fish, shells and driftwood, dead gulls and the thousand scents of other canines. It appeared to make him very happy.
We walked until only one or two distant figures remained in view then turned back. Later as we climbed to the ridge of the dunes there was the western sky filled with the fire of the setting sun.
I breathed it in and headed home.