On school conferences and sunsets

Unable to concentrate on my book, I sat in the parking lot and watched as the sun dipped below the horizon with the utmost economy, saving its brilliant splendor for another day and a more mindful audience, leaving behind only a few faint streaks of orange in the haze.
 
My mind found comfort in the rhythm that came from the tires of passing cars crossing the seams in the street—thunkthunk, thunkthunk, thunkthunk—providing monotonous relief.

 

And I was vaguely aware of questioning which direction the late winter wind was blowing, which carried with it the faint sound of the church bells announcing the hour, 6:00 p.m.

 

The conference at school had gone well.

 

So I could not help but wonder what had caused the imperceptible shift of temperament, like the transition that I had just observed from day to night.

 

I had slipped.  The melancholy returned, if only for a moment.

 

But today is another day and the sun hangs high in the sky, dazzling and bright.