The Morning Muses

Dear You,

A benefit from rising before dawn here in Florida is that most mornings I can sit with my coffee and watch sunrises. Plural, because Down Here most days are clear . . . or nearly so. The lanai is in semidarkness when I settle into the wicker rocker that faces east, the early chirping all that breaks the quiet.

I think of Emerson's poem, The Days, wherein his conceit is a parade of women bearing trays. For this particular day, the woman, departing in the evening, looks back at the poet in scorn for selecting so poorly from her offerings.

In my youth I listened to a sermon on The Present -- how the present moment is, in fact, a "present" or gift. And how often since have I heard that the past, like any dream that dissolves on awakening, is just a memory; that the future, like any wish that may or may not come true, is just as unreal. The only thing one has is the moment. "Living in the moment" -- haven't we heard it frequently?

I have these thoughts more often as I grow older. Is that "wisdom"? I don't know. I do not, however, believe I am any closer to the ideal that Emerson posited. What I know is that very soon, my morning will begin Up North, where a sunrise is not guaranteed, nor the present so obviously a tray of delectables. I'll have to work harder to ensure that my days depart with a smile more often than a sneer.