I caught sight of the sunrise a few days ago, and I entertained some peculiar thoughts.
What a wonderously bland and yet enticing way to open a blog. Wow, this one is showing some promise already.
I always wake up before the sunrise because I've got to get dressed, get my family up and going, and eat breakfast before heading to work. I've missed the sunrise, however, for years now. I know in some remote corner of my brain that there has to be some sort of transition from full dark to full light, and it involves a lot of interesting colours and patterns that vary from day to day, and I daresay there is never a pair of sunsets that match each other, and from an estetic point of view it is usually a beautiful event, but I haven't actively watched one in, well, in a depressingly long time.
I happened to see this one quite by accident, really. I was early into the kitchen that morning, and glancing out the window into the east I saw the lovely maroons and pinks that the rising sun was making in the morning cloud cover, and I was moved enough to take the camera out into the freezing cold and take a picture. Which was an utter failure.
Or not horrible, I should say, just lacking. It fell so far short of the real thing that I was let down beyond words over the camera's utter failure to capture what turns out to be billions of minute shades of the same colour. The digital simply wasn't up to the sort of receiving and recording ability that my eyes are capable of.
So then my thoughts turned to how many sunrises and sunsets I've missed, what beauty I've simply overlooked, and to thoughts of how easy it would be for some superior intelligences to leave messages in the sunrise that only a select few would see; those willing and able to be up in time and with the leisure to watch this otherworldly caveat in the sky.
And I quashed that thought, because that way lies paranoia and love-me-jackets.
So then my mind turned to thoughts of Brian, the upper classman in college whom I looked up to while I was working on my Art degree. He was a painter in oils also, but his canvases were of a much more serious scale. He would, you see, paint on old military pup tents, stretched onto wooden frames. And usually he'd put several together, to make a 10' or so wide square upon which to record his passage.
I remember specifically one huge canvas, all covered in dribbles of Red Devil black enamel paint, overlaid with huge swaths of a bloody magenta colour. He told me it was from his memories of living in Baton Rouge. It seems that they have the most magnificent sunrises there, where the sun turns the morning sky a livid pomegranate red, a colour that is seldom if ever seen elsewhere, people would tell him.
His reply to this effusion of feeling? "It's the pollution." It seems there is a certain chemical or combination of waste chemicals that, when suspended in the sky from smokestacks and exhaust vents difracts the rising sun's rays in such a way as to make this incredibly exotic colour.
So much for Mother Nature.