Item
Skating Under A Sunless Sunset
Title (Dublin Core)
Skating Under A Sunless Sunset
Disclaimer (Dublin Core)
DISCLAIMER: This item may have been submitted in response to a school assignment. See Linked Data.
Description (Dublin Core)
September 9th, 2020. The first day in years where I wake up and I am terrified by what I see: the world outside my window is drenched in orange light. I blink multiple times and bolt up, making sure I am not dreaming and that I am in complete control of my faculties. I sit in my room, stunned, for a few moments, then go about my day as usual. I peek my head outside for a moment, and smell nothing in the air. None of the smoke that had been plaguing our noses for the past few days was permitted among the copper splendor. My whole morning, I am terrified of what this could potentially mean: that the fire was close. That we could be in danger. This leaves a bad taste in my mouth for the morning.
After class, I go about my normal after-school activities, gaming on my computer and playing on the guitar. At about 6 in the evening, I decide to myself “screw it.” I pick up my board, put my earbuds in, and get out of the house. The orange is dimmer, but still terrifyingly beautiful to look at. I skate around, listening to my favorite music as I observe the neighborhood around me, the same shapes with different meanings now. I dare not to pull out my phone to ruin this moment, knowing a photograph or video from it will ruin the moment for me. I stop along Mangos Drive and just sit on the curb, board behind my feet, and I stare up, hearing only my music and the occasional car passing by. A true calm, I was in, one I hadn’t been in in a long time.
And so I sat there, knowing where the sun sets, but seeing no sun. I knew when it did set, but not through sight. Through feeling. The lukewarm day turned colder, the orange dimmed to a vibrant brown, and I felt phenomenal. I skated back home, not caring to check how long I’d been gone, knowing it was well worth it however much time I spent out there. I snapped out of it, and continued with the things I had been doing before, playing games and the guitar. Not once, that whole day, did I smell or taste smoke. And I am grateful for it.
After class, I go about my normal after-school activities, gaming on my computer and playing on the guitar. At about 6 in the evening, I decide to myself “screw it.” I pick up my board, put my earbuds in, and get out of the house. The orange is dimmer, but still terrifyingly beautiful to look at. I skate around, listening to my favorite music as I observe the neighborhood around me, the same shapes with different meanings now. I dare not to pull out my phone to ruin this moment, knowing a photograph or video from it will ruin the moment for me. I stop along Mangos Drive and just sit on the curb, board behind my feet, and I stare up, hearing only my music and the occasional car passing by. A true calm, I was in, one I hadn’t been in in a long time.
And so I sat there, knowing where the sun sets, but seeing no sun. I knew when it did set, but not through sight. Through feeling. The lukewarm day turned colder, the orange dimmed to a vibrant brown, and I felt phenomenal. I skated back home, not caring to check how long I’d been gone, knowing it was well worth it however much time I spent out there. I snapped out of it, and continued with the things I had been doing before, playing games and the guitar. Not once, that whole day, did I smell or taste smoke. And I am grateful for it.
Date (Dublin Core)
Creator (Dublin Core)
Event Identifier (Dublin Core)
Partner (Dublin Core)
Type (Dublin Core)
Sensory memory; it is my own memory.
Controlled Vocabulary (Dublin Core)
English
Education--K12
English
Sports
English
Music
English
Technology
English
Cities & Suburbs
English
Neighborhoods
English
Home & Family Life
English
Emotion
Curator's Tags (Omeka Classic)
Contributor's Tags (a true folksonomy) (Friend of a Friend)
Collection (Dublin Core)
Linked Data (Dublin Core)
Date Submitted (Dublin Core)
10/27/2020
Date Modified (Dublin Core)
10/30/2020
10/16/2023
11/12/2023
Date Created (Dublin Core)
09/09/2020
This item was submitted on October 27, 2020 by Tony Yantikov using the form “Share Your Story” on the site “A Journal of the Plague Year”: http://mail.covid-19archive.org/s/archive
Click here to view the collected data.