Friday, September 20, 2019

Blue


“The sky is blue.”  Says my friend, who listed this as her response to a philosophy exam question and received a not-so-favorable grade.  My response: “oh … no, no, no, no, no!”

I’ve always loved a beautiful sunrise.  Even better, are the sunsets.  And the clouds.  I’ve even learned to appreciate a rainstorm (It’s Texas.  We appreciate any amount of rain).

Before I retired, my work day began at 7:30.  The lobby of our building had floor-to-ceiling windows and each day, as I made my way up to the second floor via the stairs in the atrium, I looked east, and often caught the sunrise.

A beautiful array of pinks, then oranges, then yellows.  On a very good day, there were also purples.  Lavender, turned into the prettiest shade of violet.  The sky eventually giving way to the blue that my friend would see.

A few years ago, I attended a Walk to Emmaus (Leaps & Bounds).  It was after this retreat, that I began to see sunrises in a different way.  God’s masterpieces, as it were.  And what a magnificent painter He is!  And each morning, upon reaching the 2nd story landing, I had a new appreciation for what I witnessed.  And I started my day with a smile.

It made me thankful for a new day.  And I often wondered how many other people were awestruck by the very same sunrise.

As we checked off the #1 item on my bucket list, I woke early one morning and tried to catch the sunrise.  Though cloud cover made that a little difficult.  Still, the sky was filled with pinks and even blues, or maybe it was grays.  The sun trying desperately to break from behind the clouds.



When I moved back to my hometown of San Antonio several years ago, I found some like-minded weirdos who liked to awaken before the roosters, throw weight on their backs and walk purposefully through the streets of our city (What the Ruck?). 

It was on these days, that we (including my friend, the finance major) were treated to some pretty spectacular beginnings of the day.  Various shades of orange often emerged, from peach to the brightest of tangerines.  

And still, my friend saw blue.

If you were to ask me to describe the most incredible sunrise I’d ever seen (and really, you are wondering, right?), that’s easy.  It occurred in Kruger National Park, South Africa.  We left our camp in time to enter the park before sunrise.  As the sun crested the savanna, our guide stopped the jeep.  And we sat.  In awe.

 

Bold oranges gave way to blood red skies.  And as the reds faded to orange, and the orange to yellow, a giraffe and her calf, passed by.



My granddaughter, my pumpkin-girl, and I often find ourselves looking into the clouds.  Spotting various animals, most of which are smiling.  Watching them as they chase us home, often shape-shifting into something else by the time our destination is reached.  Wondering whether these clouds, puffy, and white, might give way to the grays, and provide us a much-needed rain shower.

Growing up, rain showers almost certainly meant playing indoors, because it was too dangerous to be outside.  Lightning and all. 

Until the rain was over and you were sent outside to read the rain gauge.  And hope that by the time you made it back in to report the amount, that you were actually able to remember it!  Adults, for whatever reason, were always interested in how much rain Mother Nature had provided us.

But as a kid, rain showers yielded something else:  mud puddles!  The better to splish and splash through, preferably on one’s bike.  The brown goo spraying every which way.  And while my dad might’ve taken pride in washing his truck every week, it was a good day when I got to wash my bike.  Because it meant a good time had been had.

When the sky turns gray, and then black, we, the responsible drivers in San Antonio know that it’s better to stay off the roads.  For drivers in our fair city revert to their 15-year old, driver’s permit-carrying selves at the sight of the first rain drop. (Life in the Fast Lane).

My husband loves to watch the rain.  And it’s something I’ve grown to appreciate over the years.  We’ve even been known to get out of bed and sit on the patio at 3:00 a.m. when a thunderstorm, with it’s booming thunder and brightest of lightning, rolls through.  Of course, it’s pitch-black outside at that time of night, save for the moments when the sky is lightened by said bolts of lightning.

And after the really big rain showers, my husband gets a text from my dad.  Asking how much rain we had in our rain gauge.

Our pumpkin girl’s favorite color is currently “rainbow”.  She’s 4.

But really … who can blame her?  What with the orange-orange, lemon-yellow, and raspberry red.  Oh wait.  That’s something else entirely.

I dare say, at her age, looking for rainbows, with its multiple colors (literally, all the colors of the rainbow, ya’ll), makes for a very good day.

And at the end of the day, as we send the sun on its journey to the other side of the globe, we are presented with another mesmerizing image.  One that often, in my opinion, surpasses the beauty of the sun’s daily debut. 

We don’t live on the side of the town that often has the best sunsets (that’s reserved for those facing west).  But on occasion, if the clouds are situated just right (and maybe the atmosphere contributes to this?  I don’t know.  I’m not a meteorologist), we are treated to beautiful hues of pink, meshed with orange.  My phone, as it adds light to the picture, will often display purples too. 

I can tell we’re in for one of these beauties when our living room turns its own shade of pink.  And I run outside (first to the back of the house, then to the front) as the colors seem to envelop us, surround us, before dipping out of sight, making way for the moon.

And the views from atop the Tower of the Americas isn't all that bad either.  (of course, for me, it's especially nice when the view includes my hubby!)


When we travel, and the day’s blue hues begin to give way to something even more spectacular, we often make it point to watch the sunset over drinks.

I love the sunsets in New York City.  The sunlight shining onto the many skyscrapers, and in turn, the glass of the skyscrapers reflecting the sunlight.  And as the last bit of sun hovers over the Hudson, dipping slowly behind Lady Liberty, the city lights bring the city to life.  And the moon shining brightly above the dark blue sky.



There’s also something pretty spectacular about watching the sun set over the water. 

There is a phenomenon I’ve only witnessed once.  It happened in Hawaii a few years ago.  And honestly, I don’t know if it happens anywhere else.  On a good day, a cloudless day, as people gather along Waikiki Beach to bid Aloha to the day, you must wait for it.  Wait for what, you ask?

Well … you can’t blink, because you literally might miss it.  So I put my camera down.  And I waited.  Just as the sun makes its final descent, there it is.  A green flash.  A very pleasant surprise.  And I thank the local surfer dude who encouraged me to wait it out and keep my eyes open.

Some of the most remarkable sunsets we've been treated to occurred this year.

In the Philippines, over a couple of ice cold San Miguel pilsners, we watched as the bangkas, the spidery outriggers that dotted the waters along the island’s coastline, bobbed up and down slowly.  Behind them, the sun changed from orange to red to blue to purple to yellow then back to orange again.  No (photo) filters were necessary.


And then there were the sunsets in Africa.  One, on a sunset river cruise on the Chobe, various shades of orange filled the soon-to-be night sky.    


And the next night, as I made my way to the patio of our lodge, regrettably without my camera in hand, I was treated to the most amazing sunset I think I have ever seen.  Brilliant shades of deep reds and striking purples.  Merging together.  The light bouncing off the river, highlighting the marsh’s tall grass. 

And I stood there, soaking up the moment.  It lives on only in my memory.  But what a memory it is.

This.  Was so much more.  Than a single shade of blue.


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