This fall I visited Bean Blossom Overlook for the first time. It sits up high where the hill drops away, and you can see a whole valley of trees rolling out to the horizon. I went to watch the sunset, and as usual, I went by myself.

Watching sunsets alone is something I have been thinking about a lot lately, so I want to write it down. I have loved a good sunset for a long time, and I even made a video about them. This is a post about a quiet hour, a thermos, and a sky that has never once asked me to bring a date.

The Sky Keeps Its Appointments

Here is how it usually goes. I get excited about a sunset and ask someone if they want to come along. They say, “Oh, I wish I could. Maybe next time.”

I believe them, too. People have jobs and kids and ballgames and laundry that will not fold itself. A sunset lasts maybe twenty minutes from the first gold to the last blue, and that is a surprisingly hard thing to fit into a full week. Nobody means anything by it. Folks are busy, a lot of them are tired, and the couch is right there.

The same goes for trips. I keep a list of places I would love to see, and getting two calendars to agree on a weekend is a puzzle all its own. So some evenings I head out alone, and some evenings I just go find a good view and see what the sky has planned.

The sky, for its part, keeps every appointment. It does not cancel. It does not run late. It shows up every single day, whether I have company or not, and it dresses up for the occasion.

What the Light Does

Here is what the sky did at Bean Blossom Overlook.

First, the whole valley turned the color of a ripe peach. The low sun slid across the treetops and lit the maples and oaks as if somebody had switched on a lamp inside each one. Down in the valley sat a little farm, its roofs catching the light, looking like a porch light left on for somebody coming home.

A few minutes later, the horizon burned the orange of a campfire coal. The bare branches along the edge stood against it like pencil lines, and a lone jet trail drew a thin white scratch across the blue. The late wildflowers at my feet turned silver around the edges.

Then the show slowed down. The sky faded to a soft pink and lavender, the far hills went blue, and the trees settled into quiet. One big orange tree in front of me held its color a little longer than everything else, like the last lamp lit on a long street.

I stood there and thought, this is a lot of beauty for one person to have all to himself. That thought did not make me sad. It made me want to tell you about it.

What I Notice When Nobody Is Talking

I love a good conversation. If you have ever been stuck next to me at a gathering, you know I can talk. A sunset asks for a different kind of attention.

When I am by myself, I hear things I would otherwise miss. Wind moving through dry leaves sounds like a slow handclap. A crow somewhere calls once and then thinks better of it. A truck hums along a county road a long way off, and the sound takes its time getting to me.

I notice my own shoulders, too. They start the evening up near my ears, and by the last light they have dropped about an inch. My breathing slows down without my asking it to. The worries I carried up the hill are still there, and they look a little smaller next to a valley that big.

This is the gift of watching sunsets alone. Nobody needs me to say anything, so I get to find out what I think when I am quiet.

Room for Company

I will be honest with you. Some evenings I wish somebody were sitting next to me.

A sunset is a wonderful thing to hand to a friend. You say, “Look at that,” and they say, “Would you look at that,” and just like that the moment has been shared and doubled. I miss that. Watching sunsets alone is a quiet joy, and watching with a friend is a bigger one. Both are good. I try to take each one as it comes and leave the grumbling at home.

I think this is true for lots of us. We have moments we would love to share, and the people we love are pulled in ten directions. We are all people in a busy season, watching the same sky from different windows. Somewhere right now, a friend of mine is probably glancing at the same orange light over a kitchen sink, and that counts for something.

A Few Things I Have Learned About Watching Sunsets Alone

If you want to try a sunset on your own, here are some things that have worked for me.

• Get there early. About thirty minutes before sundown gives you time to settle in and find your spot.
• Stay late. Most folks leave when the sun drops. The best pinks and purples often show up fifteen or twenty minutes after that.
• Dress for the hill. It is always cooler up high. A jacket and a thermos of something hot turn a quick stop into a little event.
• Take your pictures early, then put the phone away. Snap a few, then just look. The photos will hold the colors, and you can hold the feeling.
• Tell someone where you are going. A quick text is plenty. It keeps you safe, and it gives somebody a small piece of your evening.
• Let it be enough. A sunset does not need a reason or an audience.

An Invitation

Here is my invitation to you, and it goes two ways.

If you are watching sunsets alone, whether on a hilltop, a porch step, or the parking lot behind the grocery store, I hope you give yourself full permission to enjoy it. Take your time. You are in good company.

And if you have a friend who keeps asking you along and you keep saying “maybe next time,” consider saying yes. You do not need a whole trip or a free weekend. Twenty minutes on a hillside will do. It costs very little, and it might turn out to be the best part of somebody’s week.

Fall teaches the same lesson. It does not last long. A few weeks of color, and the leaves are on the ground. A sunset is shorter still. As I said in a video I filmed this season, we need to cherish every moment we can. Both are good reasons to go look while you can, with company or without. If you like fall reflections, I also wrote about a maple’s lesson on perfect timing.

A few falls ago I chased a sunset out to the lake at Ferdinand State Forest and filmed the whole thing, cypress trees and lichen included. If you would like some company on your own quiet evening, you can watch it below.

I will be back on a hilltop soon, thermos in hand, watching sunsets alone or with a friend who says yes. In the meantime, look west tonight. The sky has something planned, and it would love for you to see it.