When Richard came home from work, we went for a brisk walk down to the sports fields near Central Square.
The lower field seems to be used primarily by joggers and people with dogs (perhaps not the best combination, unless you run with your head down and watching where you put your feet). The upper one is often used for cricket or hockey matches, particularly on the weekend and in the evenings, and I’ve also seen teams of impressively fit young men playing touch rugby. After we had completed our circumnavigations of the field, we bought some ingredients for a stirfry at the Spar, and then headed home.
After the brief shower of rain earlier today, the muggy heat of the day had dissipated, and the air felt fresh and alive. All around the neighbourhood, people were walking their dogs or going home with their shopping, and taking deep breaths of the clean air.
The rays of the setting sun in the west, just to the side of Devil’s Peak, had painted the clouds in the sky above a beautiful golden yellow. The western sky, which we could only glimpse intermittently between the roofs of the houses, was the most intense golden colour I had seen in ages. And all above us, it looked as though an ecstatically happy divine being had liberally brush-stroked rich golden paint all across the firmament, adding little dabs and dashes of white and blue to highlight the contrast even more.
When we reached our broad street, which runs almost straight from east to west, we stood motionless for a minute, hand in hand, gazing in wonderment at what looked like swirling golden mists in the west, over and beyond the city, and marvelling at the play of this luminous golden light across the swathes of clouds high above us.
What a glorious sunset!