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| December 26, 2013 |
Living where the sky meets the sea, I’ve developed a
real appreciation for the sunrise. I’m hardly obsessed enough to drag my butt
out of bed at 5 a.m. in summer, and it’s often too rainy in winter, but if I
happen to be awake and the morning happens to be clear, I will park on the sofa
in the Ocean Room and await the spectacle.
Some cloud is best; you get a dynamic pre-show ahead
of the main feature. It will start with rich, rosy red clouds melting into a
coral sky. Stark bare branches are sketched black against it. The water will be
pearl blue. The colours will shift, lightening here, darkening there … and then
a bright orange glitter will spark on the horizon. I’ll watch as the spark
gradually swells to a blazing gold toffee penny. The clouds will be bathed in
gilded light. The water will catch fire. It will hurt to look, but I’ll keep
looking and marveling. I once believed that sunset was the grandest time of
day, that twilight beat the dawn for beauty and magic. That was before I
experienced what a clear morning brings.
I know what makes the sunrise so spectacular. I
understand about the tilt of the earth as we orbit the sun and how shooting
light through vapour can rouse every colour of the spectrum. It’s about physics
and astronomy yaddayaddayadda.
I call it magic.
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