When I opened my door this morning, the sun was already rising. I was late, but not too late, so off I went. The clouds stretched across the sky in a vibrant pink, creating texture and pattern with the blue morning behind them. A lazy crescent moon still glimmered in the sky.
I have missed these sunrises.
Any fool can stumble into an sunset, but it takes effort and faith to wake for the sunrise. Sometimes it never comes. There is just darkness then light with no glorious fanfare. But those of us who wake early and head outside are sometimes treated to a spectacular show directly from the other side of the world.
The air this morning was thick with jasmine. On the verge of rotting, it was a sweet, rather than floral, scent. I savored its sweetness until my mouth was full of what tasted like dill pickles as I ran past a neighbor’s herb garden with a thriving dill plant near her fence.
I laughed and looked up in time to see a flock of black birds moving as one, as if they had choreographed a routine. Other birds, hiding in the trees, twittered and I remembered the thoughts I wrote about them last year.
My daily rhythms have been off since Thanksgiving when my mom visited. I stayed up late to enjoy her company, but never quite got back into the swing of things. I keep missing my bedtime which means I miss my morning solitude as well. It’s not an even exchange. At night I watch television or click on Internet links until the day is over and I’ve accomplished nothing. I feel utterly spent and somewhat numb when those hours slip away from me. On the other hand, when I’m up early, I use my minutes wisely: praciticing yoga, meditating, writing or running. Each of these activities connects me to myself and makes me feel alive.
At night I lose myself, but in the morning I find myself.
Every mother tries to carve out a few minutes for herself each day. Some just want a cup of coffee or a glass of wine in peace. Others want to write or work on a project. Still others light a candle and breathe in silence. Each of us needs a moment to just be a person, rather than the role we play all day.
But timing is everything. Interruptions are part and parcel of motherhood. The balancing act becomes a juggling act if one element is thrown out of whack.
I missed sunrise.
Mist rose over the green undulations of the golf course as I passed it on my way home. The last wisps of pink disappeared and finally the moon abdicated to the sun. I was there to witness these small great things. As gently and magnificently as the sun rose today, my spirit woke from a sort of hibernation. Simply put, I was inspired.
I was in my spirit.
Those are the thoughts that ran through my mind as I ran through the sunrise.