“Boys! Come out here! Right about now is when the sunset begins! Honey, grab the camera!” My dad yelled from his chair.

We immediately stopped sword dueling on our Wii console to go outside on the balcony, where we had a perfect view of the mountains to watch the sun peek from its hiding place in the clouds. We sat and talked of how excited we would be when the sun actually appeared. All of a sudden, something mysterious came from the clouds above us.

“Look at the sky,” I said suddenly. “It’s turning completely orange, and the clouds are becoming pink.”

The sun slowly swam across the orange, pool-like sky, turning the gloomy clouds into glowing waterbed sheets.

“Oh my gosh,” I exclaimed. “This is unbelievable!”

I was struck by the sheer beauty of the scene unraveling before me. My dad replied in the southern accent he uses when the world needs some emphasis.

“It’s like God dern painted it wid ‘is own hands.”

At that moment, I realized he had spoken the vivid truth.

The warm reds, oranges, and yellows in front of us and the floating purples and blues behind us didn’t tell us that they were created by science and logical explanation. This was far beyond that. I kept watching, growing more excited about this place than ever. Yet I was silent as the sun dipped perfectly between two mountains crossing one another in the distance.

My mind was still blown from the moment, but little did I know, my mind was in for another surprise. A week later, it became dark and gloomy and then, very softly, it began to boom and boom again. Everyone fell silent for a few minutes. Softly. Drip, drip, drip, pitter-patter pitter-patter — fffsssssshhhhhh, the rain fell on the dry, thirsty ground of the desert. FLASH! My family gasped. It was like a jagged sword striking the earth in a duel to the death.

“Whoa!” My mom responded.

“Did you see that?” I asked.

Then my dad said, “It looks like we’ve got a desert thund -”

BOOOOOOMMM!!!

The thunder surround-sound system decided to interrupt him before he could finish his sentence. I suddenly noticed that the edge of the balcony, where the roof did not protect the wooden floor, was drenched. I motioned for my brothers to come look. Just then my littlest brother sped past me and jumped into the rain. The sound of our laughter resonated throughout the wet balcony as we shivered from the cold water. Whenever thunder and lightning would appear, we would hop, giggle, and jump. We even sang a little gibberish rain song. After a while, my mom went in to grab towels for us, the rain began to slow, and the clouds cleared.

There were plenty more sunsets and thunderstorms in Santa Fe, New Mexico, that summer, and they all changed who I am. Since that trip last summer, I have not been able to stop thinking about them, and revisiting the memories. They were just so incredible I can’t let them go. By remembering these remarkable moments, I can now see the beauty in everything: people, places, and creations, no matter their mistakes or flaws. It has also changed my outlook on natural phenomena. I remember these instances and get a supernatural feeling. I now believe that not just science makes the grass grow.

The experience of this raw beauty helps remind me of a greater power, and helps strengthen my faith in God. I will do my best to never forget this memory. It was a godly miracle, and deserves to be remembered.

I wrote this awesome moment in my notebook during class. If I had to write a poem, I’d write this. If I had to write a paragraph explaining something significant about my life, I’d write this again. Usually when I write, I go back to the memory and fill it in with as much detail as possible. I feel every writer’s mission is to paint a picture with a thousand strokes so readers feel they are there with us, watching these magnificent wonders of nature.