“You’re so lucky to live in a place where you have a view of
sunrise,” the now unknown email writer wrote.
My first thought was, “Doesn’t everyone?”
I make it a practice to enjoy sunrise and sunset – the transition from darkness to light to darkness again – as much as I can wherever I can. I don’t think one must be in a perfect place to view these moments, it is more about having a state of mind that sees the beauty as she presents it herself.
Today I happened to catch the tail end of sunrise as the sun was peeking out from a cloud. I was running errands at close to six a.m. Many mothers, like me, have a relentless schedule. Today started with the whistle straight out of bed so off I went. I was probably grumbling to myself when I heard the sun call out, “Hush now, this is the only July 3, 2013 you will ever live. Spend it well!”
I could have fallen into a “oh, please,” space, complaining about the ubiquitous “Today is the first day of the rest of your life” posters much like today’s “Keep Calm and….. Fill in Whatever” posters, jewelry and t-shirts.
Seriously, though, I heard the sun’s greeting as I was driving up to one of the busiest intersections in Bakersfield which at this time of the morning is somewhat still and quiet. The surroundings are primarily strip malls and big box stores. Nothing very aesthetically enriching but the beauty of the sun’s routine trumped the bland view and gave me a good morning kiss I immediately accepted.
I pulled into the service station on the corner and snapped a photo.
I wasn’t completely happy with it.
Sunrise is such a quick thing. I wished I had caught it thirty seconds earlier.
I did feel intensely lucky and much more content about being up and out and about after I took this brief moment to be mineful.
I remembered what I knew so long ago. Each of us has a place to view the sunrise. It might not be the oceans or the mountains or a historic bridge over a magical river, but it is the same transition offered by the same heavenly orb.
Henry David Thoreau wrote, “The sun is but a morning star,” and Walt Whitman asks us “Does the daylight astonish?”
This morning I breathed in Thoreau and I nodded my head with Whitman at my banal, run-of-the-mill suburbia sunrise.
It was the one I was blessed to see.
It was beautiful.
It was memorable.
It was mine.
“The sun is but a morning star.”
This is the only (insert date you are reading this) you will ever experience. Spend it well.
“Does the daylight astonish?”
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