Gorgeous sunrise this morning. I am lucky enough to live 100 feet from the Charles River, facing east, and so I get a nice sunrise whenever I happen to be around for it, which is not all that often. But I caught it this morning and it was a heart-breaker, truly spectacular.
As I sat there, watching light do gymnastics, drinking coffee and petting the softest cat in the world, I understood just how small and petty my own problems were in the grand scheme, and how, despite the crap news from around the world, Beauty was here before we were, and will be here long after we have killed ourselves off, even if we are not here to experience it.
Awaiting the sunrise takes some getting used to.
It is not for the faint of heart, the timid, or the love-lost.
This sort of thing, first thing in the morning
has been known to make grown men weep,
women lose control of their emotions (again)
and children take note of their surroundings.
It is yet too dark to see what I mean,
but you can spend this idle time
rubbing the sand from your eyes,
and preparing your metaphors.
How many ways do you know to say ‘quicksilver’?
You will likely need them all before you are done.
This time of year it rises later, so you have a brief moment
to form a game plan, if that is your nature.
It is not mine.
When the time is right, and not before
the sky erupts in silent resplendence -
a strip tease in reverse;
every passing second fulminating
in yet another color unimagined,
another transitional hue
that was as fleeting
as it was celestial.
And only when the sky and your imagination
have reached the saturation point
does the blaze pierce the horizon,
forcing you to look away,
pushing the eyes anywhere else
but the majesty, godlike in its refusal
to be stared at.
Palpable light washes over the morning
and roosters crow,
birds take up harmonies,
and the world itself evangelizes.
Night gathers her shadowed skirts
and sits aside once more, as she must,
for aurora shines, even through clouds,
whether we see it or not.