By Dan Potter
August 3, 2009
(not the final edit)
I sit alone and look for the morning sky. The darkness has a rip. It is jagged and cold. Beyond the blackness of night is a new color or mix of hues. To the south begins a color a bit bluer than night, but as it blends north is lightens to morning blue and into the north’s deep red. The darkness above seems to have been stretched too far as patches of light hues seep through. Everything is still except the leaves awakening and the sailboat’s clanging. Oh there is the first bird’s call and wait an answer replies. Bright silence is broken as sea gulls and ducks shake off the morning due. In the distance a barge, with its bass rumble is heard as it defines where sky and water touch. The first gull takes flight following the lifting of the darkness. The rip has grown as the stretch above becomes less opaque. The deep red of the north moves across my gaze as its shadow begins to match the blue hues of the south. It seems as if two warring tribes are approaching the center of the battlefield still covered in blood, and as they do everything brightens. The outline of black trees begin to take on a life of green and the lines ahead now seem to birth formations of rocks, fence, and brush. Oh now look someone much bigger than I, beyond the north has gripped the corners of the night rug and pulled. The display is mirroring the slow motion of a theatrical performance about to begin. Curtain of night moves one to hope at what might be next. Boats rock with the rhythm of the silent orchestra of bird, leaf and barge. The tribes of the north and south seemed to have met and become one. The stretch marks above gave way to a new thickness, like the belly of a blanket. Wind catches my ear and the wings of birds; a chill either comes or goes. The pulling of the sky seems to have left strips of last night forming a trail for tomorrow to follow. Again the wind catches my ear and I turn to see reflection. Not mine, but the sky has slipped into the water. What is above is written below. Same colors now in waves awakened. Human, I have seen the day’s first human, walking away from the morning’s masterpiece. As if they never noticed. The spender seems to shout, “look at me!” but the ears of the man are not caught nor his eye for he never looks back. The sky responds by commanding the darkness above turn back like the tide. A beach of blue remains, a beach of blue that is not clouds or anything else besides space. Was it taking a way what the human missed or was it providing more light in order that the human did not trip on a shadow of time. Who am I to say? A third of the sky holds the last bit of night, it seems to cloak a future moment. A work of art still under canvas builds expectation. Lines form in the sky’s canvas, accessorize the moment of mystery. I wait in stillness and light gathers in one point. A fire grows and shapes the horizon with a sun half grown. So bright I cannot look yet so beautiful I cannot look away. The sun rises and rises and begins its journey of light, warmth, life and shadows. It seems to be lifted by one remaining cloud. The birds notice and rise higher than I to get a better view. I do not fly away but wait for the sphere of blinding beauty to give me a better view. The clouds must love this moment for they paint their every inner edge to match the horizontal fires dance. The birds join the dance as they form a winged tornado between the sun and me. The rising light seems to smile as a piece of night falls over its face and then it is gone. The sunrise hides behind the nightfall and all I can see is outlines of light. It seems colder during these minutes of exchange. As I look around, blackness, has thrown colors down, marking every place it slept or marking every place it will return to. I believe it is now officially morning for more humans are in my view, as they walk dogs, open car doors, survey their boats and wipe the last bit of blackness from there eyes. The birds circle over the water and scream. They tell the fish that a new day is just above their ceiling. Finally the last bit of sky exits the dance floor and the sun is left without a partner. I squint at the light as I remember only 45 minutes ago I searched for it. Did I find it or did it find me? A sea gull laugh’s, I guess it was a silly question. Must go now, my day is upon me.