Colors awake as seasons change
At the other end of the horizon, wonder is about to occur.
It is dark now, and all is still. Anticipation. Mood. The epiphany of a glow and suddenly that, which is dark, is now a burning coal of grey and orange and pink.
From where our feet touch this earth, eventually we will be awakened by color and foresight. On this day, wonder from the other end of a horizon is from that in a tree. It is still and moist and silent and cool, and the sense of vulnerability lurks. Steps to this place were soft and the melodic sloshing of boots amongst wet grass and soft ground were the only sounds — heard.
Through ascension into the canopy of darkness and leaf-heavy branches and the assumption of the role of hunter became the purpose, wonderer of that which lurks and flirts with anticipation and alters the mood became the spirit. From here, there is always a distant tree line and a hill and symbolically, an owl is heard somewhere, too.
What of this owl? Might it wonder and wait, too? Wonder takes the shape of trees, whose trunks are known too well. Wonder takes the place of a trail that game might travel. Wonder takes the hunter and transitions them to spectator, and the show is that which shows her colors behind a tree line and beyond a nearby hill.
A great chase commences. Streaks of purple and silver and pink and yellow become released colors that spawn depth and frame the morning sky. Her dance onto the horizon here is that of Greek in nature with poignant steps, affectionate pause, and the sun is again stretching her light amongst the sky. No longer are these creatures that of the night. No longer is this canopy of leaves and branches and fullness of growth hidden. No longer does the spirit and presence of the hunter stand hidden and covered.
Where soft steps and the slosh of moist grass moved the hunter from ground to tree, it is the sun that moves the spirit of the hunter, even if steps are never taken. There was no sloshy grass this day. Instead, the softness of a moistened planked dock supported footsteps here.
In the coastal darkness, there is work to be done and reward might be at the other end of a hook. Yet reward may also be the allure of allowing eyes and heart and soul to be receptive of wonder. Such is the case this day when the sea is flat and the wind is still and each movement toward the east brings discovery and witness, too.
At sea, in the early fall, there is treasure and bounty, and the horizon is palpable. There is familiarity with the azure-tinged waters that are coursed and fished here. There is a sense of awareness that the sea is full of surprise and full of wonder and, still, there seems to always be room for fullness that brings forth the day anew. The horizon does not end. Reflection. Release. Sustenance for malnourished souls is found when one bears witness to the prelude of a rising sun.
And so it goes that the sky is silver first and pale-white and littered with pinks and purples, and the sun is never bashful when she is born. How fitting it is that her daily birth here is over the sea. How remarkable it is that an early anger at sea is greeted by her announcement and that before her umbilical colors are severed, he feeds the sky and so, too, are we.
Being witness to the sun in her first moments of life, each day is something of a gift and the bow that is packaged here is the gift of wonder. For as all creatures are eventually different from when they are birthed, so is the sun. Difference here is the ability to silently whisper the words that one chooses to describe her eastern ascent. Difference here is tracing the blossom of the sun, as she appears buoyant on the sea, floating, floating, floating, and then bouncing softly into the daily sky. Difference here is that the sun, in her newborn moments, is soulfully appropriate and peacefully gentle upon the eyes.
She is orange and red and yellow, and her life is one of eagerness and passiveness and sometimes her infant rays are still confined to her cell of life within. There is pause. She grows. There is pause, still. She climbs. There is pause, and soon she is not bashful and her climb is brighter now. There are fish to be caught and a course to travel and the sun frolics brightly amid the blue sky.
For the hunter, there is a life moment that occurs upon witnessing the world evolve and shadows chased away by purple and orange streaks.
For the angler, there is an affirmation of life and a graciousness of life when the sun is soft and her presence that of sustenance.
Such a wonderful world it is for hunter and angler that on the other end of a horizon wonder occurs.
Enjoy your time outdoors.
You may reach Jason Hawkins at firstname.lastname@example.org.