Edited by Jim McCrory, Friday 17 April 2026 at 19:26
Shafaq (Arabic) — the last quiet breath of light,
when the redness has almost withdrawn from the horizon and the world softens into reflection.
Shafaq — The Last Quiet Breath of Light
In 1999, while working in Norway, I sat by a fjord as the sun lowered itself into that fragile hour. Return to Innocence played, not as background, but as if it belonged to the moment. The evening unfolded like something staged and yet entirely real. A great golden orb seemed to gather itself, suspended above the water, and with it came a stillness that felt complete. There was no need to capture it, no urge to explain it—only to sit within it. For a brief moment, I felt entirely at one with everything.
Like The Red Wheelbarrow, it was a moment that carried its own meaning without asking to be understood. Some experiences do not pass through interpretation; they settle directly into memory, intact and unexamined. To explain them would be to lessen them. And that is the way it should be.
Shafaq — The Last Quiet Breath of Light
Shafaq (Arabic) — the last quiet breath of light,
when the redness has almost withdrawn from the horizon and the world softens into reflection.
Shafaq — The Last Quiet Breath of Light
In 1999, while working in Norway, I sat by a fjord as the sun lowered itself into that fragile hour. Return to Innocence played, not as background, but as if it belonged to the moment. The evening unfolded like something staged and yet entirely real. A great golden orb seemed to gather itself, suspended above the water, and with it came a stillness that felt complete. There was no need to capture it, no urge to explain it—only to sit within it. For a brief moment, I felt entirely at one with everything.
Like The Red Wheelbarrow, it was a moment that carried its own meaning without asking to be understood. Some experiences do not pass through interpretation; they settle directly into memory, intact and unexamined. To explain them would be to lessen them. And that is the way it should be.
“The Red Wheelbarrow” by William Carlos Williams
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens