It’s no secret in my world that I’m a sunrise junky.  There’s nothing wrong with sunsets, and I love a good one as much as anyone, but there’s something to be said for earning the show the way getting up early for a sunrise does.  There’s also the mindset of the beginning, rather than the ending to the day that I appreciate.  I like beginnings it seems.

This morning the sunrise rose over the hills, split into fragmented rays by the trees in the woods, and finally reached my face as I did some outdoor chores before work.  It’s been bitter cold the last few days, but the sun would have none of my complaints.  Blame your Mother for turning a cold shoulder on me, the sun seems to say.  And I nod, silently thankful for the warmth that does reach me.  And I thought of a beautiful turn of words from this Mary Oliver poem that I’d read recently, appropriately named Sunrise, “it is another one of the ways to enter fire”:

“… I thought
how the sun

for everyone just
so joyfully
as it rises

under the lashes
of my own eyes, and I thought
I am so many!
What is my name?

What is the name
of the deep breath I would take
over and over
for all of us?  Call it

whatever you want, it is
happiness, it is another one
of the ways to enter
Mary Oliver, Sunrise