A friend who rises early to paint each morning’s sunrise
inspired me to capture photos of Merry Old Sol’s first peek over the horizon
for the last year. I’m not as diligent as Debbie is at capturing every dawn,
but I’ve seen enough now to make some observations.
Some mornings are not remarkable, but it’s worth getting up
early to check. Sometimes I spy lingering stars fading from night’s canvas and
make a wish or two to begin the day. Morning moons are softer and gentler than
they were a few hours earlier. They’re a nice reminder that time softens hard
edges and feelings. Always, always there’s a bird singing. Even when dawn
begins in grays, happy trills and coffee make everything right.
Some sunrises are a flashing neon message from God that I’m in
the middle of a wonderful blessing. Usually a scarlet or deep apricot color
infuses blues and lavenders. Then a brilliant glow backlights one cloud or
several so it looks like a special effects artist is working overtime with a
neon paintbrush. At this point, the effects can develop in several ways.
Sometimes those scarlet or apricot tinges bleed slowly
outward into gesturing fingers. When this occurs, I’m reminded of Homer’s epic
poem The Odyssey where he repeatedly
refers to the rosy fingers of dawn or dawn’s rosy fingers. Over two thousand
years ago, Greek sailors enjoyed the same kinds of sunrises that dazzle me. The
world has changed in so many ways, but dawn’s early light still works its magic
on those of us willing to get up to see the display.
Other mornings, it’s as if the sky explodes. There’s no
slow, gentle bleeding of color or light. It’s a nuclear flash of brilliance,
and the day has begun. It’s a no-turning-back, continue-charging-forth moment
that gets adrenaline pumping and hearts singing.
On rare occasions, morning light manifests itself in odd
little peep shows. One of those occurred last week. In general, the sky was
gray with bits of buttery gentle light peeping through every now and then. Suddenly, a tiny square of orange ripped its
way onto the stage and directed itself on an old farmstead in its path. I kept
expecting more light, but it seemed content to shine through like a flame
glowing behind isinglass.
We’ve all seen movie sunrises where celestial music plays as
clearly defined rays break and spread over the horizon like a giant crown. When
I’m outside watching those displays, I’m always disappointed that I hear only
birds or crickets. It seems an orchestra ought to perform so loudly no one
could sleep through it. I saw one of those sunrises last week as well and
turned the radio down just in case I was missing angel music.
Not everyone is a morning person, but I’m sure a few weeks
of watching dawn arrive in the eastern sky might convince a few slow risers to
enjoy a front row seat to see the best part of the day.
