Later in the afternoon, the sunset looked promising, so I got on the bicycle again and rode to a clearing overlooking the lake. It would be a beautiful spot to have a house that took advantage of the view. Happily for me it is just being used for growing vegetables and the owner doesn't mind if I come to enjoy the sunset once in a while.
The scene reminded me of this painting of Montagne Sainte-Victoire by Paul Cezanne.
The path home through a stand of cedars was carpeted with leaves and branches, their colors like splotches of paint on an artist's pallet. I was still feeling the inner glow of the sunset when I took Momo for an evening walk. As the fading sunlight colored a row of summer cottages in orange pastels, a full moon rose above them. Such an evening is the stuff of poems and paintings. I was duly inspired but also saddened by my own lack of skill in putting ink to paper (like Moody) or paint to canvas (like Wendy) that would in any way convey the moment. My memory of the experience will have to sufice and luckily for me, it does.