Posts Tagged sunrise

Morning

Life changes.

Years ago, I learned how to be up at silly o’clock, to catch a train into London and start work. Sometimes I went to the gym by the office first, then ate breakfast at my desk.

I enjoyed it. Watching the sunrise time change as the year moved, enjoying the peaceful freshness before rush hour. I was awake and got a lot done before most people had started.

Mornings are difficult for me now.

Not so long ago, I had to pull over on my drive to work, because I was crying so hard. I couldn’t continue. I didn’t have the strength to face the day, let alone work with others. I had to return home. Defeated and ashamed.

My own inner sunrise was changing, I think. What had been possible before… now was not. A limit had been reached. I had to rest, regroup, figure out what next. I wasn’t sure how long that would take, or even how best to do it.

I still love watching the dawn. The fresh quiet over the fields when I walk the dogs before the school run begins on the street. I’m in a very different place, geographically and personally. Battles have been fought.

Sometimes those tears still come. I’ve rushed back from the walk and collapsed inside my gate. Or I’ve continued, wiping my eyes and trying to take solace from playing pups (who try to help as best they can). I always carry a handkerchief, just in case.

Mornings aren’t the start of the ‘potential’ of the day for me. What will I do today?

That potential can be overwhelming. Rushing thoughts of what I have to do get faster and faster, until I can do nothing except sit and shake. Himself sits with me if he’s there, caring and concerned. But my illness seems determined to list everything I must do, before berating me for not being able to do any of it. Spiralling chaos.

I try to take mornings gently now. As much routine as I can (things happen, after all). Allowing myself to pause to knit, or just sit and watch the birds run the Kitten Gauntlet in the garden (this is apparently A Thing).

I always have to move and do eventually. That is certainly daunting, and sometimes too much. I have to let the wave of Overwhelm pass. Once the flood ebbs, I may be worn, but then I can see what’s left – priorities remain.

I do what I can. Still exploring the healing process, what my body and mind need. Ups and downs are natural. It can be so very hard.

But it helps me to appreciate every sunrise that I see.

Still here.

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Solstice Blessings!

This morning, I watched the sun rise over Nottingham City, from the beautiful grounds of Wollaton Hall. A friendly oak tree scattering leaves in my hair, ancient woodland with birds chasing, squirrels taking advantage of the unseasonable warmth (10 centigrade) to forage for food…

And me, with the lady from the BBC. I’m at 2:17 here, if you want to hear what I sound like!

I love those moments as the sky changes with the dawn (and dusk, later). The gradual realization that the deep blackness is being broken by shards of greyness, the clouds becoming limned with light, the stars fading as their place is taken by pink and orange beams. The world moves forward and the sun rises again.

So simple, the start of another day, and yet such a singular moment. Each one is unique – this day will never come again, this moment. And I bear witness, in the company of many others across the land.

Blessings of the season to you all, lovely readers. May you stay warm and safe with those you love through the dark and cold times, sharing the joy as light gradually returns to the land.

Merry Yuletide! x

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