December 3, 2024

I’ll tell you how the Sun rose –
A Ribbon at a time –
The Steeples swam in Amethyst –
The news, like Squirrels, ran –
The Hills untied their Bonnets –
The Bobolinks – begun –
Then I said softly to myself –
‘That must have been the Sun!’

But how he set – I know not –
There seemed a purple stile
Which little Yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while –
Till when they reached the other side,
A Dominie in Gray –
Put gently up the evening Bars –
And led the flock away –

–Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson told of how the sun rose in one of her many poems. And this morning that poem came to life in my front yard. Yet, after a long holiday, the last thing I wanted to do was greet the sun, while the night still encased the room. My eyes heavy from the bustle of running errands and operating full tilt to the point of being over-run on caffeine and under-run on sleep. All I wanted to do was “slope” under the covers for a few more points.

The sun rose in ribbons at a time just as she said it would. Gray faded into wisps of lavender and purple. Purple morphed into fizzy pink which couldn’t hold its place. Peach and creamsicle dipped around in there too before all was interrupted quite harshly by fiery orange with its burning intention.

These are the colors I could see from eyes not quite in acceptance of the early hour. A much clearer version came into a view moments later when my eyes adjusted. Even in my half-awake stupor I was cognizant enough to see something spectacular even if slightly obscured from the boughs of the trees in the distance. December sunrises are not often touted for their grandeur…they are typically bested by their sister sunset. However, this particular morning the sun took to the course and ran away with it. Or did it? The sun isn’t actually rising, we just perceive it that way. The sun’s position doesn’t actually change, it is instead the rotation of the Earth that leads us to the perception of “a rise”. It’s simply intuitive to most people to call the sun and moon rising. (As well as setting.)

Despite the opener, the remainder of the day seemed to move along in a rather “undefined” manner. The purple finches returned for a hot minute and the squirrels seemed to engage in some racketeering despite my best efforts to deter them from any and all birdseed. One particular feathered visitor did “positively” brighten the otherwise lackluster, “negative” gray day. There’s been a Northern Mockingbird frequently visiting my yard this season, a first for our house, that actually seems to be intent on calling this territory theirs. Nearly every day the bird makes some rounds perching here and there in the usual spots. I revel in its appearance as much on day 20 as I did on day one back in October.

Lastly, at day’s end, fiery orange lit up the sky one more time, only this time in the form of a DreamWorks sliver of a moon setting low and growing bigger by the second as it did so. Its pleasing silent grace was a welcome sight after navigating rush hour traffic in my tiny town of tiny rural roads. Over-run with too many cars doing too many things.

Yet, tomorrow sun and moon and us too will “rise” again. But perhaps my formula might require a full brew of coffee, instead of half.