It was meant to be a time of quiet reflection. I was standing alone at the edge of a large field. Straddling my bicycle contemplatively, I savoured the delicious beauty of the setting sun. I thanked God that no matter where I had lived, He had always found me such places. Places where I could see the sunset, alone. There was no wind. The clouds hang low. Above them was a vast, clear expanse. Bathed in the dying embers the clouds bore the moment with elegant grace. They sailed aloft ever so gently. S himmering in amber, orange and a touch of grey, t hey looked like they could fall. Of course, they were not going to fall. Some unseen power seemed to be holding them in place. Was it God or physics? Surely it had to be God. How could such art be the work of blind nature? So beautiful. God had to be an artist! 7.10 p.m. The emerging stars eased me out of my reverie. Wife had said not to ride in the dark. I was in familiar territory so I was confident that I could find my way home. However,