But where to?
I've got wild, staring eyes
and I've got a strong urge to fly
But I've got nowhere to fly to.
and I've got a strong urge to fly
But I've got nowhere to fly to.
posted by Badri at 1:48 PM
2 comments
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Monday, February 13, 2006
Mornings
Mornings are so beautiful it's ridiculous.
We all know about sunsets. If there were ratings or awards for 'most beloved natural phenomenon' the sunset would probably win (with close competition from lightning). Let's face it, they are darn spectacular. Especially on days the sky is scattered with wispy clouds, when as the sun goes down they come ablaze with colors. We love 'em. We love clicking pictures of them (as the previous post testifies). Yet in the 'serenely beautiful' department sunsets must concede first place to sunrises.
And it's not just because the sunrise marks the dawn of a new day. Not just because it's not only you, but the whole world that's waking up anew. Not just because when you encounter it, you aren't soiled by the dirty deeds of the day - feeling like a used dishrag - but are still feeling fresh and raring to go. There's more to it.
The morning is nature's own hour. It is, quite literally, the time our seemingly inanimate surroundings come alive. And it's not just an odd bird here or the wind there. It's the whole orchestrated jing bang. All the sights, sounds, and images of nature come together in a flawlessly executed, perfectly harmonious symphony of natural beauty. Nature's presence is more than palpable - it is manifest, overpowering.
On a rare occasion a few days ago I was up early. To shake off some of the early-morning blues I took a walk outside to the cliffs by the sea. It was a hazy winter morning, the chill still in the air. There was a wonderfully nippy breeze, not cold, just cool enough to wake me up. It felt as if a thousand micro-pulses had sent each nerve tingling, delightfully, excitingly. Patches of long-bladed lawn grass were a-sway in the breeze, producing gently varying shades of green in the early morning light. The trees and the brush were a-twitter with the frenetic early activity of a hundred songbirds - a warble here, a flutter there, an odd squawk from a mockingbird, making for busy, pleasant company. The sea was at high tide, throwing up a gentle surf that broke idly by the rocks. The waves crashed in a measured, ominous rhythm - as if in slow motion - to produce caps that, against the hazy gray mass of the sea, glowed a brilliant, snowy white. The sun was a pale shadow of its scorching self, a hazy white orb in the sky, obscured by clouds. Yet a few errant streams penetrated through, emanating radially from the sun, paths of light that seemed to lead up to Ra himself. The rippled patches of open sea lit up by the sun danced and glowed like a million diamonds. I stood there awhile, entranced, till I had to return.
I am not by nature a spiritual person. Yet I can see how at such times one can, if so inclined, feel the presence of God.
Nor am I a morning person - I never have been. But life is long, and I'm sure I'll see many more wonderful mornings such as this. And that's something to be glad about.
We all know about sunsets. If there were ratings or awards for 'most beloved natural phenomenon' the sunset would probably win (with close competition from lightning). Let's face it, they are darn spectacular. Especially on days the sky is scattered with wispy clouds, when as the sun goes down they come ablaze with colors. We love 'em. We love clicking pictures of them (as the previous post testifies). Yet in the 'serenely beautiful' department sunsets must concede first place to sunrises.
And it's not just because the sunrise marks the dawn of a new day. Not just because it's not only you, but the whole world that's waking up anew. Not just because when you encounter it, you aren't soiled by the dirty deeds of the day - feeling like a used dishrag - but are still feeling fresh and raring to go. There's more to it.
The morning is nature's own hour. It is, quite literally, the time our seemingly inanimate surroundings come alive. And it's not just an odd bird here or the wind there. It's the whole orchestrated jing bang. All the sights, sounds, and images of nature come together in a flawlessly executed, perfectly harmonious symphony of natural beauty. Nature's presence is more than palpable - it is manifest, overpowering.
On a rare occasion a few days ago I was up early. To shake off some of the early-morning blues I took a walk outside to the cliffs by the sea. It was a hazy winter morning, the chill still in the air. There was a wonderfully nippy breeze, not cold, just cool enough to wake me up. It felt as if a thousand micro-pulses had sent each nerve tingling, delightfully, excitingly. Patches of long-bladed lawn grass were a-sway in the breeze, producing gently varying shades of green in the early morning light. The trees and the brush were a-twitter with the frenetic early activity of a hundred songbirds - a warble here, a flutter there, an odd squawk from a mockingbird, making for busy, pleasant company. The sea was at high tide, throwing up a gentle surf that broke idly by the rocks. The waves crashed in a measured, ominous rhythm - as if in slow motion - to produce caps that, against the hazy gray mass of the sea, glowed a brilliant, snowy white. The sun was a pale shadow of its scorching self, a hazy white orb in the sky, obscured by clouds. Yet a few errant streams penetrated through, emanating radially from the sun, paths of light that seemed to lead up to Ra himself. The rippled patches of open sea lit up by the sun danced and glowed like a million diamonds. I stood there awhile, entranced, till I had to return.
I am not by nature a spiritual person. Yet I can see how at such times one can, if so inclined, feel the presence of God.
Nor am I a morning person - I never have been. But life is long, and I'm sure I'll see many more wonderful mornings such as this. And that's something to be glad about.
posted by Badri at 8:32 PM
1 comments
