this morning the north eastern rim of our city could have been a little slice of a hawaiian island..... undulating green hillsides draped in ribbons of white cloud, at the v-shaped opening of emigration canyon the sun pushing powerfully through thick layers upon layers of white bumpy clouds so that streams escaped and highlighted lush green coves and bumps of foothill.
clouds rested gently on the valley floor and high above hillside homes, their airy whiteness ethereal, the sun streaking through from so very far away, beyond layer after layer of cloud that you could see up the narrow canyon openings, lending this otherwordly feel to our slowly awakening 7-am city.
which reaffirmed for me why I get up early: this incredible tableau is temporary, fleeting, missed often before you even realize it was there.
which is not to say night scenes aren't as beautiful and dramatic. I love to sit up on a hillside, looking out over the valley, the city lights spread far and wide in front of me, imagining the millions of different lives that are lived out under the spector of their glow. a night sky smattered with stars and wispy clouds that play hide and seek with the moon fills my soul with joy and strength.
I suppose if all were ideal, I would sleep from 1 am until 5 am, and exist on those four hours of sleep, so that I could have both enough hours to do all that I want to do, and the perfect hours when my heart and soul thrill to the visual wonders that surround us at dawn, at dusk, at midnight.
they tell me that as we age, we sleep less well, and it's possible that I may someday own that sleeping pattern that I just labeled ideal.
and not think it's so ideal.
but perhaps I could throw in a midday siesta, and all will be well.
I know, I know, be careful what you wish for . . .