Dawn’s Light: Golden Yet Cool Fire

Dawn

All is still under golden light,

holding its breath;

even the air.

Stark contrast between yellow-gold light

and silver-black shadow,

though even that doesn’t seem as dark

by comparison.

Birds are seen now,

their songs breaking like crystal

in turn breaking the silence.

The trees and breeze stir,

awakening to prepare for their day

while cheery wrens flit among their branches.

Now

roused by the rising chatter,

people too stir from sleep,

cued by the brilliant stalwart sunrise,

cheered on by glorious birdsong,

they rise in their homes.

Suddenly the morning is a cacophony,

doors slamming, cars going, people calling,

motorcycles, lawn mowers, chainsaws,

planes, helicopters, and music.

Nature’s quiet beauty,

the sunrise, birdsong, and trees,

are drowned by incessant human overspill

throughout the day.

And still, deep into the night,

when nature has long ago silenced,

the people still move and roar,

yet afraid of night’s stillness by crickets.

But at last human activity slackens

around the smaller hours of the night,

while even the silence interrupts itself

with owls and the like-kind wildlife.

Dawn.

Dawn,

the light bleaching the night to the east,

like ultra-strong Clorox of the gods,

sky from black to indigo to Tiffany-box blue to powder blue

until in the bleached white portion

rises the sun,

a glorious fireball that no one can look at directly

even though it lies millions of miles away,

yet everyone admires directly.

Throwing light on every object its ethereal paintbrush can reach,

and at this time glorified into heaven’s stuffs

by that pure, pure light.

And now,

now,

naught breaks nature’s silence

but itself.

This poem was written in stomp-poem format, so read it like one.

It’s pretty crazy. I mean, you can hear human activity from around 7:00 in the morning, on throughout the day, and deep into the night. The only time when it seems to calm is around two or three in the morning, when most lucky people are asleep (and the unlucky ones aren’t, of course).

But there’s a point in the morning, just after dawn, especially in the summer when the sun rises early, when everything is bright and not even the wind rustles the trees. It all seems so unrealistically still, except for the motion of the birds. The moment is brief,the spell of silence before lawn mowers, car doors, and other noise as people get up and go to work, but restful. “Why don’t people get up that early if it’s so nice?” You might wonder. Well, people say they’re tired, and besides, if people were to be up early, that silence at dawn would be obliterated, leaving absolutely no silent daytime period in many urban areas.

So tomorrow morning, even though it’s a Sunday, maybe you’d want to wake up early. Sit in your yard or green space quietly, and listen to the silence. Watch birds, read, write poetry…it’s all the same if you do it under dawn’s ethereal paintbrush, making you something from heaven on earth from that light.

–Aidyl

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