There’s nothing especially remarkable about the sky right now. I’ve been watching it gradually grow light, and for a while I thought it might be spectacular. Not so. Not yet.
There are more days like this than there are extraordinary ones—in terms of sunrises and experiences. We must learn to appreciate the ordinary, and see through it to find specs of the extraordinary, or we’re doomed to a life of mundane.
It is still here this morning. Cool air through the open bedroom window, the contrail of an airplane surfacing memories of past travel and gratitude for home, the distant sound of highway traffic: these my early morning companions.
It is noticeably darker when I rise these days. The season is changing. We’re gently shifting toward something new. The challenge is not to attempt to squeeze as much out of what remains of summer as possible, but to walk softly through days that unfold as ordinary as this one.
Around here, as I said, it’s quiet. Laurinda arrived yesterday, loaded up Makiya’s things (more now than when she arrived as we stocked her up with art supplies while she was here), and took her home. Gerry accompanied them, on a mission.
And now, this morning, as Maya snores gently next to me and I sip soy milky frothy coffee in the fullness of a solitary dawn I sense and embrace the shift. What was, was. Now, we move forward to what is to come.
There’s a touch of wonder breaking now as the sun rises. Not enough for me to snap another photo, but a promise. Quiet promises and abiding faith are enough.
Today is Monday, the second one in August, in the nineteenth week of Ordinary Time.