I know I’ve talked about loving sunrises on here before. And the cruel irony of loving something that happens so early in the morning.
But still, they captivate me.
When I was in Guatemala a few weeks ago, I crept out of bed at 5 one morning. In the dark, I threw on my jacket over my pajamas, and felt around on the cool tile floor for my flip flops. I slipped quietly out of the room, leaving my roommate to sleep in the gray darkness of our room.
I tip-toed up the stairs until I reached the roof of our hotel. I listened to the roosters crowing, and watched lights beginning to flicker on in the houses that stretched out below me.
And I waited.
I think one of the reasons I prefer sunrises to sunsets is their gentleness. While sunrises are beautiful, they are also brash. The colors are bright, full of orange and red, lighting the sky up like a fire.
But sunrises, they are quiet and blushing. They start dusty gray, with a smudge of pink, like a child blushing at an unexpected compliment.
The -pink deepens. A blushing child becomes a flush-faced one. Cheeks that have grown rosy from play. Darkness is pushed across the sky.
The blues and blacks lighten to purple. Darkness is dissolved into light.
Even the sun, hot and bright during the day, seems more gentle during the dawn. It peeks and glows, cool and quiet. It lights the clouds from behind, spilling over and dripping onto the mountains.
I stood in the cool Guatemalan air, watching the miracle of a new morning, ushered in before my eyes.
And I was reminded.
Today is a new day.
Filled with gentle beauty.