It is the end of the day, and my brain drags in a tiny snippet of poetry as I look again at this photograph of yesterday's sunset. For some reason, searching for the words to pair with this photo has led me to the haunting lyrics and melody of Taps. "Day is done, gone the sun" blurted my brain, and I had to stop and think of the rest of the words. Then I realized it was Taps. Such a deep emotional trigger the bugle pulls when it sounds taps. Strange that it has this power to mesmerize.
Stranger still, to the modern mind, might be the realization that some of the first words associated with this bugle call were, "Go to sleep, go to sleep..." Ahhh, there's the elusive connection between a sunset photo and a bugle call! Sixty seconds of lonely bugle call to herald the end of each day. Funny, that. How many times do I herald the end of each day, each ordinary day, with such an emotion stirring ritual?
The irony of that question is that I sit here alone, struggling to coax sufficiently respectful words to the keyboard, willing myself to finish writing this "quick" blog post and then re-join everyone downstairs to say good night. Day is done, and even the children know it is time to go to sleep. This feels like a half-written essay to which I've added a stilted summary sentence. . . I think maybe we will have to talk about this again sometime. Now, I have a few little people to go hug and kiss. Good night to you, and sweet dreams, Ang