March 11, 2019

Over the past 8 years, I’ve become an early riser. Last summer a friend of mine playfully scolded me for my early bedtime. She said I was missing out on the beauty of the sunsets. Wasting the time.

She sits on her balcony near the ocean and watches the sun go down on those long, Norwegian nights. And there are times when I envy her those soothing sunsets.

But I get the sunrises.

This morning I dawdled more than usual and was a half-an-hour late to hit the trail. But it is spring now, and the sun is catching up with us. For now, a half-an-hour is the difference between running in the dark, and running in predawn’s pink and blue watercolors. Next month the sun will beat me to the trailhead every morning.

The lake is still edged with ice and roughly textured in the soft light.
The ducks’ calls can sound like mocking laughter, but I no longer mind.
They are a promise (and a reminder) for the day to come.
Let it come, and go – and keep it easy.

For now, there are sunrises.
There will be sunsets in the autumn
when it comes.

Posted in: Journal, Poetry

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