I’ll tell you how the sun rose a ribbon at a time. ~Emily Dickinson
Light is such a gift. I was raised in the Arizona desert and as a small child my greatest joy was witnessing the sunrise. In those times, Phoenix was a growing city. John F. Long was building acres of affordable housing. Whole neighborhoods went up almost overnight, invading farmland and bare desert. My family lived in the far western edge of one of them. Our house was in the last row facing west and in the morning, the hot sun rose up over distant eastern mountains and burned its way into a new day.
Rocky, the family dog, and I would sit in the cold on the back patio and watch the clouds transform from a muddy blue-grey mass into swirls of pink, gold, purple, and bright white. Huge, white cloud-ships sailed the morning updrafts into an ever expanding blue sky. The night was over and with this exquisite display, daytime began.
It seemed that the rising sun was like nature's alarm clock, waking whole flocks of hungry birds who greeted the dawn silence with their anxious calls. Soon, dogs barked, kitchen doors opened and closed, gates slammed, and coffee steam perfumed the air with bustle and routine. It was time to wake up the family. It was time for everyone to welcome the daylight.
