I don’t get to see sunrises very often – for a while I was having frequent dalliances with the beginning of the day, then England decided to go into daylight saving mode smashing my delicate relationship with the rose-hued light of mornings. Occasionally we have made a proper effort to worship the ball of fire that rises over our horizon – through the folds of an Arabian Desert tent, for a pre-work brunch at Duck and Waffle and occasionally in honour to the god of caffeine.
But, flying over Christmas between New Zealand and Dubai (we hovered somewhere over the oceans between Australia & Singapore to be exactish), I lifted the window-shade to a breathtaking moment. Of course I didn’t have my camera to hand (it was buried in the hat rack (nb: why are they still called hat racks instead of overhead lockers?) behind several bags and I would have had to wake Mr Kiwi & our kind seat friend).
Instead, I was forced to actually just be in the moment.
Over the azure
ocean, perfectly cotton candy clouds floated. Almost child-drawn in
their fluffy shapes they just hung in the pre-dawn light below our
plane. As I raised my eyes to the horizon, the sun began to break
through; tiny beams of light dappling the clouds, before a salmon pink
light began to infuse the expanse of endless sky.
As the sky changed, I fancied that I could scry shapes in their tumbling edges, an animal face here, the chimney of a child-drawn house there. The longer I stared out of the window, more sunlight spilled over the soft fluffy pillows of weather, and the air almost seemed to sparkle.
Around me, every one else was staring into their little flickering screens or studying the insides of their eyelids. I wanted to shake them all awake and show them my discovery
I really should wake up earlier more often.
So, sunrise or sunset & why…?