Following the Sun

Dear You,

Most days, the sunrises and the sunsets here in Florida look remarkably the same. And on my street, when I step out to get the morning newspaper or when I sit on the driveway with my plastic chair and wineglass of an evening, I can watch the scene by looking either left or right. It doesn't last long -- very soon it's sunny or it's dark.

The sky is deep blue; the land is just dark. Silhouettes are palm trees, and the gray street wends toward the rising (or setting) sun. Pole lights winking off (or on) are like little exclamation points to add to the excitement of the moment.

In between, a slice of orange, with pinks and lavenders above. I think of Roy G. Biv (or, as my earth science teacher preferred, "vibgyor") and I watch for the arriving (or departing) flights of tropical birds.

I don't record this because it's particularly beautiful (it is) or at all unusual (as a part-time Floridian, I can't take it for granted), but because once again this demonstrates to me the importance of being "present," of "showing up." As I said, it doesn't last long.

But what does?