Florida’s flash of green

They existed in the open cocoon and blazing hue of a brilliant sunset beach, these two lovers. She danced and twirled to ancient rhythms. He sat, peacefully watching her glorious shape bend and sway to a hidden song.

He liked to watch her as she danced, her body moving lithely, conforming to patterns molded by melodies meant to enchant, to capture a heart. The beach at sunset will do that to anyone, particularly two people in love.

The heat of the day melts quickly into the cool, clean sand and the brightness of the sky slowly fades to an auburn glow, like coals at the edge of a warming fire.

There are no other sunsets like those over open water. There are no sunsets like those over open water watched in unison by lovers, freed from all other worldly constraints and contained solely in the glow of dance and rhythm. There is no time. There is no duty. There is no obligation, except to the dance of the sunset and to each other.

Then, it happened.

He saw it first and started waving his hand frantically, trying to get her attention and hating to break up the dance, but this she must see. He said nothing, simply pointed. He wasn’t even sure he was seeing it.

But, of course, she saw it, too, and came running to grab his hand to link together with the vision.

The curious thing is they’d seen the legendary green flash twice before in as many weeks, twice as many times together as they’d seen it separately over the course of their lives before each other.

But this was different.

The sun was only halfway into its disappearance through the door of the sky vault, as the ancients would have described it. Fully half its orb still appeared above the horizon in blazing orange. Suddenly, without warning, It flickered green over its full half-orb, but only for a moment.

Then, it flickered green again, and before either could say a word, it turned a translucent and shimmering green and stayed that hue as it sank into the distant water. Neither said a word, at first; only stood in stunned silence.

“What did you see?” he finally asked, tentatively.

“What did YOU see?” came the equally tentative reply.

“I saw the whole dang thing turn green,” he said after a few more minutes, still not sure.

“I’ve never seen that before,” came her reassuring reply.

“Then, we’re not making it up?” he asked.

“No,” she said softly, gripping his hand tighter.

Some people claim the green flash is a myth, that it doesn’t exist. Some say people who claim to see it only imagine they see it.

Scientists and folks who study such things will tell you the green flash is the result of light being refracted through the Earth’s atmosphere at the unusual angles of sunset or sunrise. Some folks described it as a pop of light or a wisp of spirit. Some folks simply have no sense of beauty or romance.

But, when half the setting sun turns a pulsating green, there is no denying it, and when another is there to share that vision, neither is there any sense in denying the soul-stirring pulsating hearts that echo its majesty.

It is right. And the world is right, and passing day sinks into star-filled nights.

Steve Hart is a sailor, angler, explorer, raconteur, amateur citrus-grower and semi-professional theologian who masqueraded as a Florida journalist and pundit for the last 25 years. A fifth-generation Floridian, Hart comes from solid cracker stock but revels in the changing face of 21st century Florida and its patchwork quilt of people, their cultures, traditions, shades and ideas. His book, “Tales from Down Yonder, Florida,” is available in local bookstores and on the Web at downyonderflorida.com.