Vacations were once the only time I admired sunsets.

Being “away” — from work, responsibility, the constraints of home — meant we were open to appreciating nature’s beauty. My mom has long lamented that we don’t have a good view of the skyline from my childhood home, making photographing dusk that much harder. But the slow drawl of vacation allows us to do what we want when we want to . . . and taking the time to admire the slow encroach of nightfall? Let’s do it.

I’ve changed, though. Tried to make conscious decisions to slow down. And since moving in with my husband last fall, I’ve been more open to admiring what I once reserved for “special occasions.”

For watching the sky.

Who doesn’t admire a good sunset? Even if we spend our entire workday frantically flipping through emails, pounding lattes and muttering about traffic, the spectacular colors in a winter sky can give even the most harried of commuters pause.

I’m no different.

Our building is perched on a hill overlooking the town — a steep drop into the center of it all. Sometimes I look out our living room windows and feel like a Roman guard, sworn to protect an outpost from bloodthirsty invaders. We have a perfect view of the green space and nearby parking lot, and I’m just paranoid enough to pay attention to others’ goings-on. I would make an exceptional look-out.

If you were worried about your car getting stolen, anyway.

Most of the time, though, I lean against our over-sized windowsills and just look at the sky. When Spencer moved in the year before we got engaged, this was our main form of entertainment. We had no television, no cable, no Internet. Before he was settled, sky-watching that June — windows open, humid night air pouring in — was our way to pass the time.

It was pretty magical, actually.

Even then I was picturing how I might fit into this fresh space. It was an exhilarating and scary thought, the idea of moving here, to this unknown space. This place with Spencer. (He made it far less scary, I’ll admit.)

As Old Man Winter has kept us inside for most of our first four months of marriage, I’ve had plenty of time to think of space. Of home. Of building this place into our place. It’s coming along, and I think we’ve done a great job.

Our perch above town has proved useful many times (Fourth of July fireworks, anyone?) — and most especially for soaking up sunsets. Because we’ve been too lazy/unconcerned to get curtains for the living room (don’t worry, all other spaces are covered!), we have gorgeous and unobstructed views of the sky. All the natural light was what initially drew us to the condo in 2011, actually.

It snowed to beat the band all day on Monday — fat flakes flossing the ground like powdered sugar. The “green space” has been far from green. But by dinnertime, the strips of cloud and sky had been spun a watercolor pink with blues and purples.

I thought of all the gorgeous sunsets we’ve already witnessed here, in our first home together.

And of all the rich and varied colors still to come.