I’m joining in with a group of writers for Five Minute Friday where we’re given a prompt (this week it’s SUNRISE) and write for five minutes about it.
Sequestered, as I am at this time of year, under a Sherpa blanket and with a sleeping Yorkie on my lap here in the den with its south-facing window, I haven’t seen the sun rise for months. No early morning colours declaring God’s glory, no hills and mountains praising, just a quiet, slow start to the day where light ever so gradually overtakes the dark.
I haven’t seen the sunrise, but I know it’s there. I know it happens. Tucked away in the recesses of my winter mind are memories of other sunrises. Mornings when I sat with my toes in the sand sipping a latte on the beach in the Mayan Riviera, or watched the sky change from brilliant pink to shades of soft blue while standing barefoot in my backyard, and those times when dawn seemed to arrive suddenly and without much fanfare at all.
Whether hidden behind clouds, or arriving with brilliant and colourful fanfare, the comfort of the sunrise is that it happens. Every. Single. Day. It provides an anchor. Something to rely on. Even in the midst of upside down times such as the ones we are living through.
In this, the sunrise is a picture of the Divine.
These are beautiful pictures, and I love your observation that the sunrise always happens, that it is an anchor in these unpredictable times and that it points to the constancy of God. Visiting from FMF #18.
Linda, funny you use the word sequestered. I feel as though we have been exactly that this cold winter.
I love your imagery of the light of sunrise gradually overtaking the darkness. That’s just how it is sometimes. Maybe most of the time? It’d probably be startling if sunrise were like someone turning on an overhead light in a dark room. So, God bears with our need for a slow change. In light and life.
Amie, FMF #23
Beautiful picture. The sunset is the a picture of the divine. Amen visiting from fmf #16
I’ve been enjoying your blog since the beginning of the year. I like how honest you are about yourself and the difficulties and hope you express. We had a week of eerie brilliant red sunrises in early January so your photos were a reminders of those mornings when the sunlight shone red so briefly. Your photos are stunning by themselves.
Ah, Yorkies! What WOULD we do without them?
And here is Buzz the Yorkie
a-sittin’ on my lap;
his face is bright and perky,
a bonza little chap
full ready to rush out the door
to offer new intrusions
to our great big Labrador
about his dawn ablutions.
Buz may just nip Labby’s nose
or bite unto his tail
to set the Lab in fearful pose
and cause a high-pitched wail,
but dust will clear, the chaos ends,
and they are still the best of friends.
Beautiful pictures and beautiful truth!