SUN RISES IN THE EAST

UN RISES IN THE EAST

The sun rises in the East, and I am happy that our bedroom faces in this direction. I am most decidedly a morning person, so this arrangement suits me, and now I come to think about it, our bedroom has often caught the morning sun in the various houses where we have lived.

John pulls back the curtains at 7 am, and I lie, warm and snug under my covers, the back of my bed raised behind me, and I watch the dawn develop. Sometimes (not often in England) the sun rises in a perfect fiery ball and roars its way upwards into the sky. Usually you just glimpse its golden brightness visible through lines of cloud; or the blackness of night gradually seeps away leaving banks of colour, from a liquid gold, fiery or blushing pink, to a pale green… On occasion however it just lightens from impenetrable black into a dull and sullen grey. However in general it is very beautiful, different every day and no two days are ever the same.

Sometimes (again, not often here) there are cloudless skies, but more usually there are clouds forming and moving, of infinite variety. I have always been a cloud- watcher I used to lie on my back on a steeply sloping field next to our house and watch them scudding over, generally in the same direction (from South West to North East I presume). Every so often it would vary in its disciplined propulsion and then I would rush off and say to my mother, Clouds are going in the wrong direction! She never looked as if she was as perturbed as I thought she should have been.

There are trees in our own and our neighbours’ gardens but there is one very large and spreading tree, now bare of leaves in a further away garden. I enjoy watching the birds occupy this tree. They too watch the wind and the clouds for anything useful. They fly off one by one, in different directions. Yesterday there we were seven mirds in the tree; today not a solitary one.

I find ‘MEditation’ incredibly difficult to do – so boring, mind rebels – but it occurs to me that this sitting, peacefully observing the sun rise yet again, and being thankful for this miracle which has happened everyday since the beginning of time, and will continue to happen until the end of time – which day will surely come – only I will not be there by then- is as good a form of meditation as anything.

Lastly, behind the Tree of Seven Birds, so distant that I could not reliably identify them, but biggish so probably crows, a flock of birds filled the sky for a brief moment. A murder of crows, I thought; and then reflected on the probable origin of that unkind and unfair phrase.

For about ten days of the year, the sun strikes a mirror which reflects onto another and shines full on me as I lie in my bed. Although this is entirely a fortuitous event, unplanned by me, I feel as thrilled and delighted as my Celtic ancestor, standing in Maes Howe, the beautifully built tomb on Orkney must have felt when the sun shone down the entry tunnel and illuminated the dark interior.

May the light shine upon us.

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About adhocannie
I am a good natured woman with a long memory and a swift tongue. I like loooking at things and thinking about them. Also food, clothes, travel, reading, sewing. I try to see the ridiculous in things, but sobriety of reflection keeps edgting in. I have husband, children, grandchildren, friends... I feel rich in things that matter. I am a happy exile. I like writing. I do not like talking about me (though I do.). You willl be much more interesting.

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