It goes away at 5 or so, and you can feel the light beginning to slant and seep away to that other portion of the world that deserves it at about 4. Even by 3, which should be afternoon, the sun is there but you can only feel it weakly, that is if it comes out at all, visible behind the architecture of the clouds. Probably morning is when it is best in the world when it all turns to winter. Certainly the chair I am sitting in is best from nine to noon, where it receives the sun. Unfortunately I am not made for morning, not mostly, my motor skills will not kick in until the caffeine kick and bell-toll meaning about ten. Nine if I am lucky and there is nothing in the world that requires me.
So the sun is gone completely, and has been gone by now for hours. What did humans do before we could control the light sources in our homes? How old are candles? We have had flame, I suppose, since the dawn of civilization. But now everything is lights and electricity, energy and fossil fuels condensed through millenia of stasis and pressure. This city is lit, I know, especially when I see it from the air, or through the fog of car glass under moisture. It sparkles and is something to behold. I can hold it in my hands, in my heart. It is like a ham. Fit for cats and consumption. When we can see it, we can eat it, and it is beautiful, and it is more than this, a daily miracle, all of these things combined—when taken in the aggregate, there is a lot to be said for all of this. Even when it's gone and the lights are gone and we are left with television memories of summer.
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