“Praised be my Lord God, with all his creatures, and especially our brother the sun, who brings us the day and who brings us the light.” — St. Francis of Assisi 

Back in the days when my late husband and I took frequent trips to Florida, I would often sit silently for long stretches of time and watch the clouds moseying across the turquoise sky. Sometimes my mind traipsed into a cache of memories and I selected one of my favorites — like the evening we chased the sunset.

First, we packed a bottle of champagne in ice and headed out in our little boat, the Sea Moose. We didn’t realize it at first, but Mother Nature was in a decidedly feisty mood that evening. The wind began mischievously shaking the fabric of the sea, causing the Sea Moose to buck and pitch, and we quickly opted to return to the dock and tie off the boat. Then we hurried to our car and headed to the marshes to catch the evening show.

We found a small, deserted dock where we parked the car, grabbed the champagne, and seated ourselves comfortably. But then, just as Jef was uncorking the bottle, the air grew still and a herd of eager gnats descended upon our flesh. Swatting frantically, we high-tailed it back to the car.

Fortunately, it was a short drive to a ribbon of deserted beach, where we emerged cautiously from the car and perched upon the hood. The wind was strong enough to scare away the gnats, so we murmured a prayer of thanksgiving and settled in for the sunset.

We watched, enthralled, as the orange head dipped ever so slowly beneath the horizon. As it moved, the jagged oyster reefs became silhouetted in blazing light, turning black against the now-purple sea.

In moments, the sun vanished, leaving behind a cardinal sky streaked with amber. The wind then stirred voluptuously against the sea, which erupted in tiny waves of goosebumps. When the wind stilled momentarily, the water seemed to relax, loosening its muscles in surrender. Moments later, thin fingers of light touched the oyster beds, transforming them to scarlet.

Sipping champagne, we readied ourselves for the grand finale, which featured the full moon floating like a sand dollar in the sky, adorned with a nearby rhinestone star.

“Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight,” I chanted. “I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.” I paused and added, “I want this moment to last forever.”

Some moments are automatically preserved in our memories, while others seem to slip away. For me, the image of my nephew, when he was a chubby baby, standing in his crib, peering through the bars in the early morning and waiting for me to pick him up, will always be with me. Another picture that seems eternal features my husband calmly waiting for me at the altar, as I made my way up the aisle with my veil trembling from nervousness.

It’s likely that the evening we chased the sunset would have automatically been embedded in my memory, but rather than take any chances, I repeated my wish aloud. And now, decades later, and nine years since my husband’s death, I can still sort through my treasure trove of memories and select this one. Then I turn it over lovingly in my mind’s eye like an especially beautiful seashell.

Whenever I recall that magical evening, when we beheld Brother Sun graciously surrendering his domain to the moon, I thank the Lord God for his great and abundant mercy. Because, you see, the wish I made that night — for the moment to last forever — has, in some mysterious and glorious way, come true.