A Moment

It's darker at this time of year and at this latitude, and at both ends of the day of course. This morning as I returned home at 6:30 to get some work done ahead of the second of nine Tuesday Swedish classes, I was transfixed by the sunrise.

Selby Avenue runs east-west all the way to the Cathedral in my neighborhood overlooking downtown Saint Paul. This morning the sky was pink and lavender like some sort of French field from a calendar.

I wish I had a camera (and camera skill) by which to accurately record this type of image.

So having watched this for the 2 mile drive along Selby I parked, ran up to my apartment to drop off my computer, and picked up my camera. I sallied out.

Odd how one can feel alone at a moment like this; by which I don't mean lonely, but as if this whole thing had been staged simply for you. It's the singularity of interest, I guess, and the darkness. Or the belief in the singularity of interest, which is its own sort of darkness.

I walked the few blocks to the Cathedral snapping pics of the sky. The pink was already going away. By the time I made it to the Cathedral steps, just a few minutes later, the sky had changed.


I paused there on the steps. It was maybe 7:00. A workman was already out doing drainage work--I think--along the front of the rectory. He'd a wheelbarrow full of tools and was digging in the garden, pausing often to replace a sheet of pink foam insulation or weed-barrier panel that seemed to have previously been placed beneath the soil but which he was trying to lean against the building as he dug. It wasn't cooperating. I didn't understand why he didn't just throw it to the side.

A somberly lit bus passed with seven sleepy passengers.

I wandered home along Dayton. A boy skated by wearing those shoes with a wheel in the heel. I crossed the street to avoid teenagers waiting at a bus stop. The Asian kids at Ambassador Preparatory were turning on lights and hopping out of bunk beds. An old woman with a lapdog wished me good morning.

WELL WISHINGS

* To Keith as he recovers from his stroke.

* To Nancy as she begins her lung cancer therapy.