On Wednesday evening, the three of them were facing west.
Mother, father, and son. The father had his arm around the mother’s shoulder. The mother had her arm on the father’s back. The son in between grasped his mother’s shirt.
The westward facers stood quiet and still. And they watched the sun set over the city.
Watching them, you would think the sun didn’t set over the city every night.
Watching them, you would think there was no better way they could spend their time, their time which could not be refilled or returned.
Watching them, you would think they were living the good life.
So how wonderful to know that the good life can be found by doing nothing more than wrapping an arm around a loved one and pausing to honor the sun setting in the west.
And even if time could be refilled or returned, time spent doing that would never need to be.