Morning Would

Every morning he would send me a photograph of the sunrise, taken during his daily run. I’d come back from yoga full of anticipation, knowing what was waiting for me. I had reservations about getting too attached to that ritual but cut myself some slack; enjoying nature with someone is sweet and lovely (though I told myself before picking up my phone, don’t get freaked out if the picture is not there). I loved his consistency with it. I could tell he enjoyed giving me the imagery just as much as he received my reactions. Each sunrise is different and so my descriptions were as well. I gave them thought. I wanted to be as concise as possible with the words I chose, allowing the sun to speak for itself ( and to seem clever). Nature doesn’t need our help to send it’s message. Sometimes the sun was beaming, taking center stage in the sky. Other times it wasn’t ready to come out, and others it had decided to remain unavailable at that hour of day. The sun’s presence is dependable. What is chooses to give to us is in constant flux. The photos took on a metaphorical quality in regards to his and my connection. Often times it was hidden with rays of light poking out through the trees on the golf course he’d run by. It’s not ready yet, I’d write. We both knew what that meant. I said he should make a coffee table book out of these beautifully and sensitively captured pictures. It’s been done before but so what? Almost everything has been done before and yet we keep doing it again anyway. We joked about titles. I suggested “Morning Would”, a play on morning wood with inquisitive undertones; what would your mornings look like if you chose to design them according to your soul’s greatest wishes? How would the sun appear to you in your new world? I never asked these questions out loud. The words were there and didn’t need verbalizing; they took up residence in the air.

There were colors to play with; orange, pink, gray, blue, gold. The sun has moods too. He knows what he wants to wear. He makes choices. Different light and cloud patterns invited the possibility for new thought and action patterns, desired but not ready to be taken. One day it was completely hidden. My description was “it’s waiting”. He texted back, “how long am I going to have to wait?” I haven’t decided if I have been the sole recipient of such photos from him, or if it’s a move. I think they’re just for me, an error in judgment I often have, but this time I do think so. When the sun shines on us, filling us with warmth, don’t we feel as if it came to find us? That’s it’s power; to shine over the entire planet yet have such incredible individual effect. Like how that song on the radio was somehow written for you, even though you’ve never met the lyricist.
Taking the message from the images of when the sun would rest behind a thick wall of gray clouds, I made the painful choice to not communicate with him right now. I knew I wasn’t going to get my beloved sunrise photo today. I had prepped myself for it both last night and during yoga, but part of me still had a glimmer of hope it would be there. It wasn’t and I was ok. I still got up and did my thing, with far more resilience than in previously similar times. How fitting that today the sky is dark gray. As I was driving by a stretch of patchy sky, I thought, the sun is still here whether or not he sends me a photo. It’s still here and I can still see it. So much of life is unpredictable. Nature reminds us that change and stability are always in a dance. What would my mornings look like if I could choose? I’d choose to work with whatever is revealed to me that day, allowing for and loving the messages we are always being sent. To stay steady amongst all the fluctuations of life. To never lose faith that the sun has not abandoned me.