December 22-26 Ritual of Dawn

I’ve been slacking on my habit. Already.

December 22

I did go outside, but I didn’t immediately sit down to write. Here’s the photo I took of a small plane that flew noisily over my house – a regular flight from our small local airport.

I remember thinking about the noise pollution that people who live near airports suffer. (I grew up in a Chicago suburb not too far from busy O’Hare airport, but not close enough to have to hear the constant roar or jets taking off.) I was thinking about how these people are usually lower income. (Who would put up with that aggravation if you didn’t have to?)

December 23

The wind in the early morning hours was terrible – sustained 30-40, gusting 60-70. The roar kept waking me up, even woke my husband, who’s an excellent sleeper. The bicycle wind spinners in the yard were rolling at an insane clip. I resented the wind. I did not want to go out in the gray morning and sit in it.

December 24

Up late the night before tending to my gingerbread creation (I should post about it), and I slept almost past the sunrise, too late to make coffee and sit out there.

December 25 – Christmas Day

I set my alarm, though I wasn’t going anywhere, not to sit for the sunrise, which, despite the passing of the solstice, is coming still later, at 7:21, but to make waffles and eat breakfast in time to join a multi-time-zone family Zoom call at 8am Mountain / 9am Central / 10am Eastern.

December 26

A warm morning. Didn’t need my mittens. Really quiet, too. Apart from a car with an apparent tire problem rolling by on a nearby street, the noisiest thing was the squirrels ripping around on a tree, their claws on the bark sounding like one of those rain sticks.

A squirrel sat hunched in the tree in front of me. I imagined it having a sugar hangover.

The day before, I’d put out some bags of Christmas candy in a basket next to my library. By evening, five of the bags had disappeared from the basket, but I found one of them in the flowerbed, torn open and partially emptied.

Most of the color in the sky this morning seemed to be on the periphery of the sunrise. When the sun did come up and brighten the air, it felt like a sort of comforting hug for my brain. Apparently I needed light today.

Copyright 2020 by Katie Bradshaw

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