Quick note - about the present

Hi, this isn't about a trip or anything cool. I'm just sitting in my room. 

I can hear Cassie and her friend talking through a dance for their Polynesian (?) dance class - an indistinct murmur that I could pick the words out if I wanted to, rising and falling, reminding me very much of dinners in Montana, when the aunts and uncles would sit and talk and the cousins would wander off. Every once and a while I can hear Laura laughing on Skype. Outside the window, the sun is setting behind a crane, which is weird but still pretty because it's making a lattice-work silhouette. The clouds are thin, purple, edged with rose and orange-pink and gold. The sky literally looks like melted butter. It's setting more now, even as I type this. The sky looks dusty blue, like it's blue with gold dust sprinkled on it, and the edges of the clouds are white-gold now, almost painful to look at, and a darker grey-purple on the inside. The breeze is blowing the trees about and cars are intermittently turning down the street. Most don't have their lights on yet and the blinkers shine deep gold like a continuation of the sunset. 

All the glory is in the clouds now. The gold dust on the sky is being filtered into rays by the clouds, and the edges are copper, strawberry blonde, straw yellow, as you go down. As you get closer to where the sun must be, the distinction between dark and light in the clouds gets more intense; at the lowest level, they are purple mountains with gold snow.

I wish you were here. 

The clouds are becoming fuzzy, less distinct; the edging is mostly dark pink, and the dark purple is more dominant. People are walking on the sidewalk; some fast, some slow. In the opposite apartment, the TV is on, and a huge seagull just flew by.