I thought that, aside from the regular charming September weather, today was going to reveal no new phenomenon. I did not, however, reckon with that enchanting magician, the sun, who never lets a day pass, that he does not perform some mysterious trick. It may be only the odd casting of a shadow or the coloring of a cloud. To-day, as it is often, it was at his setting.
The first sight of which was on my departure from the office. A glance around the heavens revealed an ideal condition of both sky and clouds for a beautiful sunset. An analysis of a sunset would perhaps detract from a good description of it, but a fanciful one will not come amiss here I am sure. The sky is all a stage whereon the sun is the stage-manager and directs the show which is entitled “A Sunset” in Four Acts. No admission is charged so come ye all and look.
The first act is a prelude in reality. None but the most ideal conditions must prevail, and so the Sun has gathered the most whimsical kinds of clouds. Here they come trooping - pebbly clouds, foamy clouds, splashes of mists, fern-like streaks, beard-grass clouds and long bars of vapor. Without more ado they take their places and the show commences. The clouds in the west gradually become a light yellow and in front of them float splashy violet cloudwhisps. Down near the horizon in a dense bank of purple mists a red spot glows brilliantly then disappears. The color fades; the clouds become grey and brown, the sun disappears.
Act two commences almost without an intermission. Gradually we become conscious of a delicate pink glow behind a leafy screen of trees. All at once the clouds in the east change suddenly to a bright salmon color, which they hold few a few moments. It too, than vanishes sudden and the sun turns his attention to the south-west, where the snatches of mist become a brilliant red. Aye indeed tis a wonderful sight, and looks as tho a giant painter had dipped a brush in some scarlet paint, and in a vagrant mood, had flipped it against the blue sky. The color fades as rapidly as it came. The air grows dark and all sounds are hushed, save the occasional cry of a robin. Aye it is very quiet and very melancholy. Then one by one the crickets commence their night chorus. The show seems to be over. But wait!
Gradually a soft yellow glow comes in the western heavens that marks the beginning of act three. The light increases steadily until the whole sky and earth is saturated with yellow. When it reaches a certain height and all things are golden, it dies down suddenly and darkness makes another attempt to unfold the land.
Is it the end yet? No, it is not. I walk down this cool dark, leaf-bespeckled arbor to the end of the yard where I can look westward unhindered by tall houses. There the sky shows a pale yellow, against which the deep violet torn whisps of clouds, stand out darkly. Low down to the horizon are four long brilliant streaks of orange. Their fading is slow and gradual and before it is complete I turn to look at the moon.
The eastern sky is speckled with small dingy white clouds, to which the brilliant silver white of the moon, with its soft glow of yellow, is a splendid contrast. Perhaps there is nothing quite like the effect of the moons light, as it falls slantingly thru the dark soft trees to the ground.
Charles E. Burchfield, Thursday September 11, 1913