This morning the sunrise was astounding. Not at first. At first I went to the field behind DeVos and decided that although watching the sunrise is more about the peace than the painting, this uneventful color scheme could be passed over for presentation preperation. Once the library had opened and I trucked up to the fifth floor, I looked east to see the sun peaking up, dripping with color.
It was all I could do to not run. I moved as quickly as my non running feet would take me back under the Beltline (all I wanted to do was take off my shoes and run, I was so excited), slipped off my flats, and moved up the hill to field bare-foot. It was gorgeous. I must have been there a half an hour, freezing my feet off until I finally bid goodbye to the horizon to clean up and head back to homework--but, oh! What a sight.
Mornings are best quiet. I suppose it isn't truly quiet with the Beltline roaring behind or Burton humming ahead, but there aren't voices. The birds chatter, squirrels fidget, the wind blows the switches of the willows, geese honk, but inside is a silent well of joy, of peace, of I think I can make it through this day after all.
Sunset was phenomenal also. Although I was constricted to the apartment and theology readings, from the sliding door the sky was permeated with pink . . .
Michigan has something I'm not used to, something that scared me at first, but something I have learned to love: a big sky. I can't imagine it bigger, but know it must be in the prarie states and parts of the south. The immensity is amplified by the distinction between land and sky (it cannot not mingle with any ocean) and the events that parade across daily. I'll miss this sky someday. For now, I'll just enjoy it. Mornings. Mornings in Michigan are the best part of November 2010 thus far.
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