A Pact
On February mornings in Utsunomiya, the sun rises at some point between half past six and quarter to seven. It’s difficult to give an exact time as the horizon, and the arrival of the sun on the horizon, is nearly impossible to see beyond the tall cement and glass buildings which reflect the first pale light in the sky. My favorite time of day has long been the dim and dreamy hours between sunset and darkness, but I have comparatively little experience with the other side: the gradual awakening of morning light.
The sunrise happens only for a few minutes once a day, but we are guaranteed the sun’s arrival every day of our lives; it is a fulfillment of some Divine pact.
I will live another day if the sun will meet me on the horizon.
We trust that if we continue to live, if we continue to try, the world will continue to spin. This is faith. Sometimes in life, I hesitate at the dawn. I stand on the far edge of darkness and feel, for a moment that feels like forever, that the sun may never come.
The sun rose today and I watched it from the bridge over the Utsunomiya River. The water was dark and bluish-grey as it tumbled over the rocks below, and seemed almost black against the indigo wash of the shadowed embankment. From the bridge, I could see more clearly the sky in the East, tinged with hues of peach and pink. The colors were soft and warm, and even the cool blue of the Western sky reminded me of the pastel blankets newborn babies are wrapped in. Perhaps we are drawn to swaddle babies in these colors because they remind us of this daily moment of birth. The warm pinks and yellows are like fruits beginning to ripen. This is only the beginning.
The sunrise happens only for a few minutes once a day, but we are guaranteed the sun’s arrival every day of our lives; it is a fulfillment of some Divine pact.
I will live another day if the sun will meet me on the horizon.
We trust that if we continue to live, if we continue to try, the world will continue to spin. This is faith. Sometimes in life, I hesitate at the dawn. I stand on the far edge of darkness and feel, for a moment that feels like forever, that the sun may never come.
The sun rose today and I watched it from the bridge over the Utsunomiya River. The water was dark and bluish-grey as it tumbled over the rocks below, and seemed almost black against the indigo wash of the shadowed embankment. From the bridge, I could see more clearly the sky in the East, tinged with hues of peach and pink. The colors were soft and warm, and even the cool blue of the Western sky reminded me of the pastel blankets newborn babies are wrapped in. Perhaps we are drawn to swaddle babies in these colors because they remind us of this daily moment of birth. The warm pinks and yellows are like fruits beginning to ripen. This is only the beginning.
posted by oncemore at Sunday, February 04, 2007
1 Comments:
This is awesome. One of the most wonderful feelings for me as the lightening in the sky to the east becomes perceptible is the realization that you will be treated to another day. That this wonderful sentiment so often comes about after a night of dissolution is an entirely different discussion...
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