I returned to my darkened room and lay back on my bed but soon the memory of the color bright sky drug me up to go out and look again. The morning was now older, I found only a pale version of that fiery view I had so quickly taken in. The colors of light coming wait for no eye.
I had not, in fact, seen the sunrise, but only the angle of one fractional moment. I had seen no more than a freeze as if captured by a camera’s lens or a painter’s interpretive palette. I had taken only one spectral glimpse of a majestic particulate parade that casts its bouncing rays from ever greater height as surely as one’s breath travels to and from the lungs, which breath is sometimes also, sadly, as summarily hailed. Ah, yes, a new day, sunrise, life….
I’m reading a memoir that Ivan Doig wrote, This House of Sky. Speaking of one of his professors he says, “…I was given encouragement and I answered with effort.”
Let me answer with my efforts the primal encouragements so readily available with wakening.