Sometimes it seems that the more you chase a sunset, the more likely you are to only find clouds. On most of the occasions where I’ve actually been at high elevations, equipped with a tripod, the only thing to capture has been an unpunctuated mass of hovering gray.
A lesson I’ve learned in the past year, though, is to never make plans around weather predictions. Predictions of sunny skies have an inconvenient way of inviting in torrential storm clouds. And then, on those days where storms are actually predicted, there will hardly be a cloud in sight.
This day was one of the former. My girlfriend and I made our way toward the theater to see Oppenheimer, with not a single percentage chance of rain predicted. The ominous clouds twirling overhead, though, begged to differ.
Once she and I emerged from the theater after the movie, it was clear that the sky was about to break open. With a rolling thunder rapidly approaching, we clumsily spilled all that remained of our movie theater popcorn into her brand new Subaru.
So with an exchange of defeated looks, and a brief attempt to make a dent into this buttery ocean of popcorn with our hand-sized buckets, we made our way to a car wash. By the time we arrived, the wind had picked up and the sky was an entire ten shades darker. We commenced trying to suck up the reservoir of popcorn that teetered along the floor throughout our drive there.
With 90% of the popcorn vacuumed, two things happened: the sky broke suddenly open, and the industrial vacuum machine shut off without warning. Whether this was because our time limit had expired, because industrial vacuums aren’t waterproof, or simply because it had eaten one too many popcorn kernels, was unclear.
But with rain pouring torrentially down on us, we decided to take temporary refuge in a nearby mall — the King of Prussia mall — one of the largest shopping malls in the entire world.
By the time we emerged again from the commercial labyrinth a few dollars shorter, it was to a sunset which photos do little justice to. The entire world around us was an impossibly eerie orange. It reflected off people’s skin, cars, and even the freshly moistened blacktop of the parking lot that stretched out before us.
Only hours prior, this view could hardly have looked more mundane. It was a lifeless parking lot on a drab, cloudy day. But all of a sudden, I found myself upon an impromptu, relentless photo-taking spree.
It was a beautiful and aberrant moment. Nearly every person leaving the theater and nearby mall stood frozen and staring. In the distant sky, we could see what looked like tornadoes touching down on nearby towns. In this insignificant parking lot, though, time itself seemed to be at a standstill. The wind stopped blowing, the rain stopped falling, and the sun seemed to hang there motionless in the softly bleeding sky.
The colors were almost apocalyptic, but acceptingly so. It felt like the minutes after an unceremonious rapture that had left us heathens here to appreciate a final, soundless sunset. Even the chirps of birds had disappeared without a trace.
Behind us, there was a rainbow that stretched all the way across the sky. The pot of gold at the end was placed conveniently at the Oppenheimer theater we’d come from ourselves. I’m not sure what the symbolism here is exactly, but I’m hopeful that it’s not a harbinger of nuclear war.
Regardless, it was one of the most uncannily beautiful sunsets I’ve ever witnessed. Of all the mountain peaks and countrysides I’ve been to during those enchanting sunset hours, few have ever surpassed the one that took place on this arbitrary day at this arbitrary theater — smack dab between rushing highways and bustling boulevards.