I read a line in "The Zookeeper's Wife" by Diane Ackerman last night about sunrise. There is no question that references to sunrise reach me at a deeper level than they used to. The moment in time described was "in a lull between the night and dawn raids," in Poland at the dawn of World War II. I found this particular phrasing to be quite lovely:
"...morning twilight, the hour of brightening before the sun spills over the horizon..."
At this particular moment in time the morning sun is spilling into my study, onto my face. It will only find this little window to my left cheek for a few days, then it will return again around mid-August I will guess, on its rotation back to the south.
A few small triumphs have come our way in the last couple of days:
T. received rave reviews and lots of laughter in all the right places at the showing of her first documentary film. She has been asked to make copies for the drama department and the school library. She also finished a musical medley arrangement she has been working on for months, to be performed at an upcoming Cabaret event.
I brokered our porcupine misadventures into a useful article for my online column, and I received the most encouraging rejection letter to date - a personal note from the editor of a national magazine, inviting me to please submit more ideas in the future.
J spent the weekend with Guster in Vermont, where N's softball team came a hair's breadth away from moving on to the NESCAC championship. That was a victory slipped away, but there is a triumph in moving forward with a good attitude - "Well," said N, "at least now I can get some work done."
And no trips to the vet.