I’m up at 6:40 am, just missing the start of morning yoga class, but not too late to see the sunrise. Light began to peak over the edges of mountains while I lay curled into my husband’s body. The view from our tiny room and modest bed is spectacular. I try to abide myself with this, but the fresh morning air and magic of the sun’s ascent into the sky is calling me.
So out of bed, sweater and beanie on, I stopped only to fill my thermos with fresh hot water and lemon, my morning ritual. Then down the stairs and out into the brisk winter air I ran (practically). The first inhale of that cold mountain air invaded and enlivened my lungs. Yes. This is it, what I have been looking for. Excitement over the day.
Ripples of pink light began to streak through the sky. Slightly hidden by dark grey clouds moving swiftly to the south, they peaked out and filtered slowly into the morning sky. Mountains sat unmoving. Touched, yet un-phased by the moment’s glory. Unlike them, my body fought to be still, to contain the excitement of this simple joy. I tried to capture it, the lens of my camera attempting to grasp this image which was so much more than just light and shadows. Not just sunrise over serene lake and rolling rock formation. No, not just that, but awakening.
My heart has been here a thousand times. This moment, when suddenly all feels new. This moment when dawn touches my face and all is well, all is forgotten or forgiven, or both. This moment of Grace. This moment has belong to me before, or maybe I have belonged to it. We have belonged to each other. A thousand times. And yet each time is different, unique, surprising.
Here it is! (Again!) Just like the start of each new day.