More Than The Morning

I woke long before the alarm was set to startle me. I like when I can prevent the startle. I turned on the kettle, set my notebook by the window, made my tea, and waited. For the sun. I know that there are countless words written, photographs taken, paintings painted, and songs sung-about a morning or sunrise. Yet here I am….

I sat, at ease, before doing dishes, before getting ready for work. I waited, patiently, not a strong characteristic of mine. Patience. I waited for that band of sky to give notice as it turned lighter. Then lighter yet some more. There…a wink of a pink hue. Slowly, more layers of color become evident. The trees, between me and the edge of the horizon, show up in silhouette. Ah…there is an orange fade. Carefully I watch so not to miss the changing-multiple-show of colors. They are both soothing and exciting. It tickles my intrigue how the colors vary right there in front of my eyes but I cannot see the division from one color to the next. Darkness (my friend) doesn’t lift, it dissipates. Quietly. Without fanfare.

What a test of awareness, to see the day brighten, yet it mesmerizes you and lulls you into a reverie so you cannot capture, mentally, the changes occurring.  Right in front of you.  What a magnificent power…the dawning of day.  The graceful handoff between night and day, of influence and jurisdiction.  No fuss.  No quarrel.  They pass each other in twilight and dusk.  Greeting and farewell-ing.

And there, the edge of the world turns bright.  Then brighter yet.  And I sit.

Both at ease, and eager.