The landscape becomes a silhouette
against a western sky becoming brighter
with each degree of a Pacific sun
beginning its descent
into a waiting horizon.
Harbor's horn calls to its children
it's 'time to head back home.'
Those already in safe moorings
gingerly unload their catch of the day,
conclude their charters.
Tourists and locals alike
mill around the cliffs, walk the shores.
With expectation, wine in hand,
they wait for the show
as it splashes itself across the sky.
For many, a perfect end to the day.
A time to pause and enjoy
the natural world's artistry;
a chance to experience the wonder
of another astounding California sunset.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem