I'm sitting on a bench right now, the light from my computer blocking my vision from anything else around me. If I take it away my eyes could adjust, but it's getting dark. Sherman Park is where I am, the beach is about five feet away from me. I'm looking out onto what looks like a giant bay. I can see windmills in the distance and lights from what looks like a factory over in Canada. It feels like the trees are getting getting ready to end their day just like we are. They look very relaxed, especially with each branch and leaf swaying in the chilly night breeze. I don't have a jacket but it's peaceful enough that I don't mind. The sky is the prettiest right now. The horizon directly in front of me is very pink. Whenever I see that I think, “red sky at night, sailors delight.” That means tomorrow will be a nice day, and in the Soo, that doesn't seem to happen a lot. I think sunsets are such strange things when I actually think back and think about what they are. Any other time of day you cannot stare directly at the sun but at this time, you can. It would be sad if not for the fact that you know it's rising someplace else. When it finally sets, it almost feels like the sun is underneath you, but you know that it is just sharing its energy with others.
The water seems to be holding its breath for how calm it is. Nothing seems to be moving or living at all. But I know that as soon as I were to submerge myself underneath it, it wouldn't change at all unless I had the type of adaptation that marine life do. It seems creepy in a way especially if the water is completely black with darkness. In that case I feel safe on this piece of land, but with the sense of safety comes a twinge of guilt; guilt for living on the safe side.