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Quarter-Light -- ©Brenda Carter  "Isn't it kind of late?"
"We'll be there for the sunset. It'll do you good." We don't make it all the way to our usual spot on the shoreline because Rin insists on driving out to the end of the point. Although sunlight still shines over mild green fields, the mist is beginning to drift in off the ocean. We stop on the bluff to watch a herd of elk back-lit by the low sun, then turn around and head back a few miles down the road to Abbott's Lagoon. We start walking in the presunset hour when rabbits and quail gather boldly on the trail until humans come close enough to be taken seriously. Redwing blackbirds perch on fence posts, puffing up their scarlet shoulders. Rin and I don't say much. We listen to the shrill cheerfulness of the birds hidden in the beachpeas and the occasional moos which find their way over the hills of the neighboring ranch. When I was married, I used to come here alone whenever I needed to stop my thoughts from stampeding my feelings. I had always assumed this walk would only work if it was solitary, but Rin proved me wrong. We stop on the sturdy wooden footbridge that separates the north and south wings of the lagoon. As brown pelicans glide over the surface of the still water, the sun settles behind the sand dunes.
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