Some mornings I envy my husband. When I rise in the morning he remains curled in a pillow-embrace, immune to the magic of mornings. Our alpha dog Mukki hears me get up from where ever he is in the house and runs to the bedroom. No, he isn’t happy to see me up, he’s happy to take my place in the bed. I’d have to be sick to stay in bed, I’ve never been able to manage it. I can go to bed at 2am and still pop up at six.
This morning I’m stiff and sore from a new routine on the treadmill. To avoid boredom, I create new routines, which have little to do with getting in shape and more to do with keeping me amused and on the treadmill. My latest trick is keeping the speed at a fast walk but cycling through the inclines for 90 minutes each day. I dream of putting the treadmill in the screen-room someday facing the sunrise, but for now and until we figure out how to manage this, the treadmill remains in the basement.
So, I wander around with coffee in hand giving my tight muscles and joints a chance to loosen up. I wander out into the back yard and stand in awe of another amazing sunrise. As each minute passes, so does the range of colors and the designs the light makes on the undersides of wispy clouds. It’s 24° and the first day of March, I ignore the squirrels yelling at me and the birds singing the ‘gimme free seed’ song, as I stand in awe of the kaleidoscope view. I try but I can never get the photos to capture the delicate tints. Granted an iPod isn’t exactly the perfect camera for such a shot. So, while the photos here are a hint of the reality I experienced, the photos are a gateway to my memory’s snapshot. A few minutes later, as I write this the sky is devoid of all color save a blue tint to the gray.
To say I am grateful for mornings, seems almost ungrateful because it barely scratches the awe and magic I feel. This is my Zen, my zen of sunrises.