Long, thin bands of orange cloud stretched almost from east to west across the sky, parallel to the horizon. Every few minutes they seemed to rearrange themselves. Not dramatically. Just enough that no photograph matched the one taken moments before.
M had stopped walking some time ago.
Her camera had not.
W stood beside her watching the clouds shift above the sea.
After a while he reached for the camera hanging from his shoulder.
It was not there.
M lowered hers and looked at him.
"You forgot it."
"I did."
"At sunset."
"The timing could have been better."
She smiled and returned to her viewfinder.
The clouds continued their slow transformation. Bands became gaps. Gaps became light. Colours appeared briefly and vanished again before either of them could decide whether they had really seen them.
"You know," said W, "people must have photographed millions of sunsets."
"Probably."
"And yet nobody seems to get tired of the next one."
M took another photograph.
"That's because there has never been a next one before."
Neither spoke for a while.
The sea rolled in its endless lines toward the shore.
The clouds drifted.
The light changed.
And the path ahead waited patiently for them to continue.
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