Daybreak
I cherish the dawn. I am enthralled by the sunrise. It is a time of hope and renewal and promise. I have discussed dreaming in a separate account, and daybreak transports me from dream time to real time. I have likewise described the increasing complexities of getting through the night. And daybreak reminds me that I’ve once again survived the darkest hours. But there are many other wonders associated with each new day.
The colors of daybreak are often the most stunning hues of nature’s palette. They seem to welcome all who gaze upon them. The dawn signals that Earth is rested and hopefully prepared to meet any new challenge. I take my morning walk very early. There is oftentimes mist over the meadows and dew on the grass. Morning rains may bring cool refreshment to my aging body. Sunrise brings a gradual warming of the land, and animal life begins to stir. In Tennessee, there may both cattle and deer within town boundaries. Birdsong begins very early, and that concert even includes the crowing and clucking of urban chickens!
The seasons predictably affect each daybreak and my morning walk as well. Springtime and autumn are my favorites for strikingly different reasons, though both are refreshing and colorful. Summer in the South is hot, and winter all over our land can be bitterly cold before the sun climbs skyward. Yet, frigid morning walks are invigorating. Another pleasant aspect of my walks is that I can witness the awakening of fellow planet dwellers. They greet me on the way to their daily tasks.
Some of my other chores at sunrise include transitory personal hygiene, a brief prayer, a quick audio of the morning news on my mini-transistor radio, some attitudinal calisthenics to prepare me for the day and a heart-healthy breakfast with my loyal wife. But the more enduring legacy of each dawn, each sunrise and each daybreak embraces renewal, promise and hope.
Tennessee, 2009
Happy Tune
People live long lives in Uruguay. Many of the aged are women, of whom many are widows. Some of those elderly widows are pensioners, others are not. One characteristic of such women is their incredible resilience. Another is their remarkably positive attitude. It is pretty common to see very mature women afflicted with arthritis or other crippling orthopedic conditions. The difference in the Uruguayan demeanor and that of some other areas of the world is the avoidance of complaint and the embrace of self-reliance. No motorized shopping carts or personal scooters are to be seen. No walkers are evident and even canes are rare. Elderly women walk miles a week, and they simply grin and bear it!
An assessment was made among low income people during the early months of the Frente Amplio Government. Older citizens with little or no income were offered public service duties for modest remuneration. Some became street sweepers. Many of the women became guardians of parked vehicles and motor scooters. And all were issued identifiable work vests.
On the town plaza in Pando, Canelones works an ancient lady who watches over a line of some seven or eight parked motor scooters. In the neon-red vest of a vehicle guardian, she sits on a small canvas stool when not up and about. She collects a small stipend from the government and is allowed to accept tips as well. She seems to like her job because, rain or shine, she is always there, smiling and humming a happy tune.
Uruguay, 2008
Sunsets
Those marvelous adornments of the western horizons never grow old. I could happily await and witness the closure of each day beyond such skylines, both familiar and exotic, and never tire of the splendor. And it seems that each occurrence is an unexpected surprise, a unique gift. The paintbrush of the universe is endowed with myriad wonders, and the gallery has no equal.
My horizons have been both numerous and varied. In the hills of northern Idaho, the sun always set behind a forested ridge and its colors silhouetted the spires of coniferous trees. Eastern Washington provided the snow-capped Cascades as the final curtain for each day well lived. In Egypt, suspended dust and sand particles colored the sky behind the dunes of the Western Desert. In Colombia, giant thunderheads out over the wide Pacific broke the aura of an awesome daily pageant prior to the tropical downpours which ensued. From Jordan’s western escarpment, the distant minarets of Jerusalem were infrequently visible in the occidental sky. And in Florida, palm trees and tropical vegetation festooned eventide displays over the Gulf coast.
Then there are the colors of the palette of the planet. One of my most cherished blends was the sky blue and salmon hues which colored the mackerel skies of eastern Washington. Mauves seemed to bring closure to the day behind the kopjes of southern Africa. Pewter and indigo could tincture fading light upon Idaho storm clouds, while an eerie orange illuminated the sandy skies of the Middle East. And seeming to linger long after the sun ebbed below the horizon of Colombian waters of the wide Pacific was the brilliant then fading deep crimson flame of the departing day. Yes, Creation holds a multitude of wonders, and sunsets must surely be the most magnificent.
Colombia, 1970
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