|photo by Ruth Burke|
This is not a poem about the sunrise. I awoke at 6:09 a.m. to ambient light. The bedroom window framed the southern end of the sunrise (officially at 6:10 a.m. today.). Sunrises I usually miss so I did not turn over and go back to sleep. I watched it, all the pinks and yellows mixed together, not in layers but in a Monet-mosaic-fractaled palette way. Unusual. A poem tried to form in my head. I always think sunrises and sunsets look like the inside of some seashells, only backlit by the sun. I tried to find a poetic way to say that but it wasn’t happening at 6:09 a.m. (some would say never) but my brain kept working on it, just for fun. Then I blinked and the colors were gone, the sky was light grey. Like an oyster. So then I thought about where the colors went -- maybe just the shift of the sun, maybe clouds, maybe I had dreamed the sunrise? So I thought about that some more. Even after I got up and did morning stuff. Even on my way to Walmart driving down Illinois Road with Nico and Vinz on the radio, I was thinking about the seashell colors that became oyster colors so suddenly, and then how nature is full of patterns and colors that repeat and reflect. That biologists would see in their observations and microscopes, and astronomers in their telescopes, and mathematicians in their mathy things. But who would see the big pictures and the little pictures all the pictures in between, the way everything is patterned and connected and repeated, nature playing with us, maybe even playing inside of us and because of us? I was pulling into the shopping center, driving past Kohls, when it occurred to me who can put it all together.
I think I used this before but it's Top 40 on repeat anyway.