It seems to be that the boldest, brightest, most beautiful colors are displayed the closer the sun is to setting, --like a slow buildup, working its way toward the climax and quickly taken by the dramatic close. Last night I was shone a hot pink sun, mere moments away from setting altogether. Its color was remarkable, not Easter-egg-pastel or sugary-sweet-cotton-candy pink; it was bold, and daring, and perfect. At this time in the day, the sun isn’t noticed for the amount of light it gives off, for it shines very little, but its attention-grabbing finale is seen in the colors it produces.
To be honest, I don’t even know if there were any other shades around it; if there were, I neglected to pay any notice. It’s likely, though, that whatever those colors may have been, there was no contest between them and their opposing conspicuous, brilliant beams. But these other tones, dull and unimpressive, held the capacity to highlight the intensity of this sun’s color. Without dim, how do we know bright? Those mediocre hues each played a vital part, as supporting roles, in the big debut of my electric pink sun.
No thing has no meaning. It may seem a lesser part, but without it, nothing would be as it is.
“Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.” I think Gandhi was onto something when he said this.
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