Technical. For just a moment inside a glowing gold auburn-ringed haze the sun was a perfectly defined pale disk, dimmer and brighter than the haze, and just how to do this alla prima is one of the sky things I haven’t figured out. Pale suns in haze – looks like several days of glazes to me.

(Do I think it’s necessary to be able to ‘represent reality’? No. But it’s a nice option to have.)

Metaphorical. That’s the last time we’d see the Great Lamp of the harbor of Atlantis. Volcanic smoke consumed it and the light disappeared.

Political. The bright circle reminded me of the handsome little Albemarle County Election Officer pin I’d received in the mail, and it occurred to me I’d better wear it while I still had the chance. (See June 9th.)

Physical. (Also, Tragicomic.) (Aerobic.) The woods have grown so tall, and with all these other trees that have come up near the yard, I sometimes can’t see enough of the sunset from any one place in the yard, the fields, or the house. So tonight it’s back and forth in the back yard – back inside the house to the second floor landing and then the studio – back outside – over to the fence – out to the front fields – back to the second floor. Did I miss anything?

Confessional. (Also, Culinary.) (Plus, see Tragicomic, Aerobic.) I have really avoided mentioning this in the two months I’ve been doing this blog, primarily because it doesn’t have anything to do with what I’m trying to say, but also because I know people will think I’m painfully crazy – but I’m usually cooking while I’m painting, photographing and posting. It ain’t Laura’s fault – she wants to cook more – I’m what they call an alpha cook. Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, it’s insane ... To paraphrase Robert Johnson, you’d better come on in my kitchen, especially if you’re hungry. Fortunately, tonight’s easy – leftover spaghetti carbonara.

Metaphysical. (Trippy, New Age.) The casual conversation with Gillian and Paul on Saturday about our orientation to the poles eventually made me realize there might be a connection between the ‘energy’ of the sunset (I told you this was trippy) and my longtime fascination with things that run basically at a right angle to whatever I’m doing. This may sound a little weird, but – for example – I can’t drive up Route 15 between Gainesville, Virginia, and Point of Rocks, Maryland, without feeling at least a little, and sometimes profoundly, distracted by the beautiful creeks and streams that run underneath the road. Partly I just want to go down those streams; the feeling of going forward in fact and going at a right angle in mind produces a sort of friction – almost literally a spark – a ‘crossing’ energy. I know I’ll return to this idea at some point later (and I hope I won’t forget to bring in “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” by Ambrose Bierce). And what I realized was that this orientation to the sunrise and sunset is somehow also a crossing energy – across the axis of the poles – perhaps playing something for us like a bow drawn over a string.