I never quite knew what one meant when one claims to be chasing the sun.
That was -- until my mother and I had to bound after an orange orb of flames drifting amidst a canvas of fading blue to capture a few frames of a grid shift dress on a twilit Sunday, a digital clock blinking tauntingly at us in our vehicular hindrance: 6:06 PM.
At the height of our chase, my blood was boiling with annoyance that pricked and plucked at my veins. I fidgeted in my seat, frustration fueled and cast unjustly at my mother who I thought was not driving fast enough, at the car which I thought was going too slow, at the pathetic traffic that was blocking my rightly-deserved golden hour photographs.
Sitting here now with a sane mind intact, the memory becomes a ludicrous lucidness, an almost laughable picture of chasing rainbows and stars hoping to find pots of gold, treasures untold. We reach for the twinkling strings of light not realizing that wisps of air, like evanescing rhapsodic craves of a sinless world, cannot be caught.
Someone's taken our hearts out and filled it to the brim with glittery naivety, blinding everything but the cloud-headed idealist in us. We drift to the breeze of our desires, our air-tight plans but one huff and one puff and we will come apart like dissolving cotton candy on the serpentine tongue of reality.
Oh, what miserable little fools my mind and I were, what vile toxic we were drenched in, what pseudo-lunatics we were at six o'six!
We pull over by a town museum already lit up in fluorescent orange and I alighted in nervous impatience, hoping that the sun that's descended into a wakeful sleep could spare us some light just this once. I posed jaws clenched, eyes dead, frustration-filled.
Back at home, I looked through the photos, expecting them to be poor and dimly lit, cold like the plan turned sour. I was wrong when the subdued complementary hues of orange and blue glistened on the screen, the sole magic marble which rolled off the pot of gold that has trailed our miserable pursuit.
Maybe if we just let go, maybe if we put our feet on the ground, maybe if we stop grasping, light might find us at 6:06.