Sunset Over Lake Overholser

I was in Putnam City today.

I never go there; life just took me to the edge of a lake. It was Lake Overholser. I crested the hill and saw a great expanse of water and knew I had to investigate. I parked my car and walked across a road bridge that joined a small line-shaped island with the mainland.

The first thing that hit me was the quiet. That is usually the first thing I notice in nature. My soft footsteps on the dry Oklahoma grass and the gentle lapping of water on a cement boat loading ramp were the only sounds. I walked onto the island and wandered to the edge. As I got closer the water got louder in response to my presence.

The water was dancing a seemingly rhythmic but chaotic dance. It splashed up to the side of the island. Not a shore, just the side. The entire ridge was made of broken chunks of cement, shattered, and strewn along the straight edge of the island. Maybe, I thought, it was a peer of some sort or dock doomed to disrepair. It must have been cheaper to leave its bones than remove the stone. By the time I saw it, the island had made the cement blocks a part of it.

Ice had formed on the twigs, bramble, and discarded cement blocks at the edge of the island. A thin line marking where water had reached. When I saw the ice, I remembered just how cold it was. 30 degrees. I thought of turning back to the warmth of my car, but an idea came to me; it is difficult to see the sunset around where I live. Buildings, trees, or highways usually blocked my view, leaving me only the clouds reflecting the lights in the west. But this island faced the west.

I checked my phone. The sunset in Putnam City was scheduled for 6:14. It was 5:43, and the sun was annoyingly bright but low in the sky. I decided to stay on the island, in the cold, and see the sunset.

Waiting was easy. I walked up and down the small island, hoping from tree to tree to get shade from the sun’s blinding light. The island had five trees, but I stayed behind the largest most of the time. I won’t pretend to know much about trees, just that this one was the same as any other I had seen in Oklahoma. Deciduous and tall. I thought about those couples who carve their initials into trees. This tree had a thick hide of bark that made that idea seem impossible. I kicked the tree (more of a push with the bottom of my foot) just to feel the sturdiness of it. It was solid as a rock. I looked at its roots and marveled that someone could take this tree out of the ground, that most of the things in my life were made of this tree. A living thing, made of iron and tied to the island. I wondered how many sunsets it had seen.

I turned back and started to see more cars arrive on the island. A small car park lined the back of it, for lake goes and boat owners when it wasn’t so cold, I assumed. A few people got out of their cars and walked off. One with a dog, another with a child, in separate directions around the lake. I looked at them over a small section of the lake separated by the island. The word “estuary” came to mind, but I had no idea if I was right. Several cars, though, didn’t move. I thought maybe they had come to see the sunset with me.

I thought of stories for them. The silver coupe was an old man, retired, come to see the sunset in memory of his late wife. They met on this island, and he used to walk to where I stood but it was too cold for that today. The black sedan was a woman who came to the edge of Lake Overholser whenever she felt lost. Whenever she remembered her, and the taste of her lips. Maybe the sunset was when they shared that first tender kiss; years, and lives, ago. It felt nice to know I wasn’t the only one who came to see the sunset, even if they did see my embarrassing display of  kicking a tree.

I imagined a mythical creature hiding behind the brush of another tree, at the furthest point of the island. It was made of bark and brush and moved like tall-stemmed plants in the wind. It would have asked me a riddle, or maybe awarded me a treasure if I bested it in combat. The tree was its home, and it was upset I had kicked its neighbor’s house so rudely. I checked my phone: 6:09.

I walked back to the largest tree and waited behind it. A test lean around the cover of the tree gave me a vivid orange “sun” every time I blinked, so I posted up and waited. I looked across the lake at the furthest shore. A water tower marked the flaming orange power of the sun, and from it, I knew when to look. I waited, and while I did, I noticed a plastic spoon.

Between the roots of the tree a discarded white plastic spoon sat. I hate littering, it is objectively a bad thing, but something about that spoon almost comforted me. It was the same for the cement “shore” that lined the edge of the island. Both were proof that humanity had been here, and even if plastic should never be left in nature, it was nice knowing that I wasn’t the only person to visit this small island.

My hands were numb and red by the time 6:13 hit. I clenched them, rubbed them together, and exhaled hot air into the palms. I was excited, and I knew that was silly. I am sure I had seen a sunset before, but every one of them in my memory was obscured. I checked the familiar clouds around the shelter of the tree. They were dull blue and gray, but as my gaze drifted west, they gradually turned orange then red. Between them the sky went from a dark magenta and pink at the horizon to a yellow then finally a blue above me. Beautiful, but all familiar. Finally, it was time to peak around the tree.

The sun was gone. Replaced by a cloud bank. At first, I thought I missed it. Then, the cloud moved. Just barley.

I had never seen the sun with my naked eye and not regretted it. It was golden, bright and with no border or perceived boundary. It was small, and still covered by dark thin clouds. Behind it, the sky exploded in color: red, orange, yellow, then blue covered and surrounded me. The clouds were dark wings spreading to the north and south, dark, and cold. I stared at the setting sun.

No one knew I was there. There was no one expecting me, or worried about me. I had no job to get to, no parents to call. This was my time, and I chose to wait on a small, cold island for a sunset. I could have stayed on that island forever, it felt like. Maybe the sun wouldn’t move anymore, maybe it would freeze just above the horizon. Maybe.

But miraculously, the sun was moving. The clouds were too. Time, it seemed, had started again. I thought of taking a picture to immortalize that image. But experience had shown me that pictures are rarely as good as the real thing. If I took a picture, it would be impossible to capture the clouds, or the lake, or the water tower, or even the sun correctly. This sunset would be mine to see. Because while Coupe and Sedan were behind me, they weren’t on that island. That sunset was mine. And it was going away.

Eventually I turned away from the sunset. I walked off that island, back over the bridge, and back to my car. By the time I got on the highway the sky was a dark navy. By the time I pulled into my parking spot in front of my apartment, it was inky black. But the image of that sunset over Lake Overholser was with me.

On my way back home, I thought about it all. From seeing the lake to driving away. I take a lot for granted, but I think the most I take for granted is… this. Not just the time I had to see the sunset, not just the natural world that let me experience it. All of this. I was in Putnam City to see a student perform in a dance competition. I wouldn’t have crested that hill and seen that water if I hadn’t been invited. I wouldn’t have gone to the island if I had somewhere else to be. I wouldn’t have stayed to see the setting sun if I was fixed on getting home. Everything led me to that island. I made the choice to go there. I think I forgot all of that existed in the miasma of work and life. I hope I never forget that no matter how bad life gets, or how busy or how stressed I become, that island on the edge of Lake Overholser is still there. And the sun will rise and set again.