There is a certain, quiet joy in the light of the morning. If it was only a matter of angle-of-incidence, then the light of the evening would be the same as the light of the morning. It is not. I wonder why? Perhaps it’s because the morning light signals - new, while the evening light signals – gone. That’s part of it, but not all.
The morning light is served with fresh air. The evening light shuffles in with tired air. Yes, of course, Sunsets can be glorious, but Sunsets happen only before the darkness falls. That’s why Sunsets are used to signal, ”The End”, while mornings usually signal, “In the beginning”.
“Wake up and smell the coffee”. Open the windows. Live!
Mornings are an invitation. After the, “little death”, of sleep, morning unfolds like a flower to embrace the Sun. What goodness might this new day bring?
Some disagree. They embrace the night. They will not be persuaded otherwise. Bless them, all. They will have to write their own essay.
I was once one of them. Now I’m not.
I’m not sure why.
It’s not because I have any youthful enthusiasm
left. I don’t. I’m old. I know better. Still, there is some glory in a ravaged thing that has been restored. It may be little,
it won’t last, but it’s something. Every morning has some such quality to it. It is hope, or the image thereof.
The image of hope in the morning light heralds every new day. If thing go wrong later in that day, it's not the fault of the new day. It might be your own fault. Many can't live new days because their sorrow for days past keeps the sun from rising.
Sorrow for what once was is understandable, and honorable.
Allowing the past to consume the here-and-now isn't.
I reject the modern notion that tragic loss should be put behind as soon as possible. We're often encouraged to cope with loss by forgetting about what was lost. I don't think anyone should ever forget about the wounds of grievous loss.
The words of St. Barton ring through the centuries: "I am hurt but I am not slain. I will lie me down and bleed awhile, then rise and fight again".
Brave, forthright, and without a trace of self-pity.
St. Barton wouldn't have thought his noble ode
as a way of coping with loss. His focus was on returning
to the fight.
I embrace that. Not because I have wounds, but because I believe hope necessary.
On the morning of each new day I expect the best
of all possible possibilities. I expect no trouble. I expect honesty and good intentions. I expect every man a to be
a gentleman and every woman a lady. If events prove otherwise, at least I did my part.
If I didn't have such hope, I would live my life in cringing suspicion. It’s not a matter of naivete. It is a matter of survival.
Hope provides dignity, and opportunity. Without it, we would all lead the uncivilized lives Hobbes described as,” Nasty, solitary, brutish, and short”.
I say, embrace the morning light, embrace hope, count your blessings, and ignore despair.
It won’t cost any more than you’re already paying.
