There’s no disputing that the sunsets in Jamaica are beautiful, often achingly so. Thomas had been blessed to behold many of them from the comfort of the balcony of his apartment overlooking the airport in Montego Bay.
But as glorious as the sunsets were, the setting of the sun was much, much more than just a magnificent photo op. In Jamaica, sunset was an event, a transition; a slow and oh-so-delicious slide from daylight to dusk. At sunset, Jamaica underwent subtle changes; attitudes softened and moods shifted. At sunset, Jamaica changed her wardrobe, substituting her bright daytime garb for a seductive evening ensemble.
Sunset in Jamaica was simply magical.
As good as the MoBay sunsets were Thomas had heard that the sunsets in Negril were unparalleled. Sitting comfortably on the beachside bench at the For Real bar, facing the sun as it slipped inexorably towards the surface of the sea, he had the best seat in the house, and he was eager to bear witness to that claim.
He leaned back on the bar top, took a sip of his beer and said, “Bring it.”
The light dimmed gradually from the high-angle, hot-white, eye-squinting glare that cast sharp shadows on the sand, to a muted, soft orange glow. The temperature slid from blisteringly hot to warm and sultry. The sea breeze gently abated.
The people on the beach and around the bar also underwent a metamorphosis – the talk became louder, the laughter more frequent and garrulous. The vibe shifted slowly from laconic to loquacious.
All of these changes occurred in small, almost imperceptible graduations, subtly synchronised to the unhurried, but relentless, sinking of the sun.
Not so subtle was the sudden transformation in the appearance of the high scattered clouds above. The clouds, which moments before had been drab-grey, were spontaneously illuminated from below with a glorious splash of vermillion. This change happened so swiftly and in such spectacular fashion as to be pretentious.
Someone was showing off.
Yes, Thomas thought, this is spectacular. He lifted his Red Stripe and took a delicate sip, “Hallelujah,” he whispered.
With the setting of the sun, Negril was gradually transformed, as if by some delightful form of island magic, from a precocious, bouncing girl-next-door to the perfectly quaffed and doe-eyed temptress who is virtually impossible to resist.
The above is an excerpt from ‘Sunset Negril – A Caribbean Adventure Tale’
http://www.amazon.com/Sunset-Negril-...8791263&sr=8-1
