Maybe it was yesterday’s recollection of my yearlong affair with the sunrise; maybe it was the robin launching its daily window-barrage at first light; maybe it was anxiety over a mild cough that began yesterday (Do I have COVID? Who have I been near? Where have I gone? What have I touched? Have I washed my hands enough?).
In any case, I uncharacteristically launched out of bed at 5:15am. A rosy glow blossoming in the east urged me to throw on bathrobe and slippers, slip into the open air, and hustle out to the pond to meet my old friend face to face, on our familiar meeting ground.
The air at dawn is unlike other air – suspended, anticipatory, quiet, fresh, gently rousing, gently rising. As the sky blossoms, lifts into light, you feel compelled to stillness. You hold your breath, pay attention. So much unspoken knowledge emanates from the nakedness of the dawning day. Let your heart and mind open; drink it in.
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 250: 163 words, TOTAL = 40,993; 19,007 remaining
Robin Clifford Wood is a writer and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband and dogs, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her grown children and their multi-species families.