The Year is Complete!

Please feel free to look back through the 365 days of 2010 sunrises, but "a year of getting up to meet the day" is officially completed. There will be no more new posts.


Thank you so much for visiting.
A one year blog project in which I share a process of transitions: emptying of the nest, reacquainting with my rusty intellect, plowing onward with my first full length book, entering the second half of my first century, and generally reflecting on life.

(see Dec. 29th, 2009 entry for further explanation)

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

guest blog: a day of getting up to meet the day

sunrise: 4:50

Here are a couple of photos of today's sunrise in Maine, since I can't help myself.  Following that is an offer I couldn't resist.  Middle daughter N. got up to see the sunrise on Sunday, June 6th and was inspired to take photos and write a few things down.

Today's title came from N, and I happily reproduce her pictures and inspired thoughts:

Today I spent my first sunrise of the year outside. I’m not exactly sure what made me actually do it as opposed to the other times when I’ve yanked down the shade, ignored alarms and happily returned to slumber, but I think I picked a good spot to begin. I could hear the waves before I left my bedroom and I didn’t really know what to expect. When I first saw it, it was only a strip of pinks and oranges, and I thought, breath-taking. Little did I know it was just beginning. I couldn’t shake my companion into the waking world so I braved the beach bugs alone. I figured I had to get at least a couple authentic shots without the give away glass reflection in the corner of the photo.

It all looked like some sort of cheesy California movie, with the white froth splashing at just the right moments over the rocks. It’s a shame that that steals my mind space even on the very not-movie coast of southern New Hampshire. It’s overcast, which I am hypothesizing makes a pretty picture, as the light has a medium (the clouds) to reflect its colors off of. And the whole sky was pink for awhile; even the water was pink. I wonder if all the little fishies wake up when their entire home turns to grapefruit juice. Finally all the colors got sucked back up into a ball of condensed life, and the sun was visible for just a bit in its natural form. I think the evolution is the coolest part.

It’s cool when you see other life forms, especially humans, outside at a time like this. But there were about five! All maybe for different reasons – a runner, a couple, a man with his dog (that wasn’t paying much attention to the glorious display), and an almost too late man armed with a camera. Someone should have told him all the pretty colors come first. Good thing I have a crazy mama who is out there for every one. And now I know why she writes. I wonder if she knew how fitting it was when she began. Or if I would have had the sudden irresistible urge to find a pen as I sat deliriously staring at the sky even without her project in my mind. Either way, the serenity and the colors, the general atmosphere and idea of the moment seemed to call for thought and reflection and written words. Thoughts about my stomach that feels sick, being forced awake way before it wanted to. Thoughts about family or friends or decisions or lack of decisions or peacefulness or love or anything like that. But mainly just about sunrises and water and clouds. And about me as a part of it all, at least for this one time.

1 comment:

  1. Thanks Nell - - all that neuroeconomics and you haven't lost the touch. Beautifully penned and a wonderful surprise.