#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
“Sunrise
The east is yellow as a daffodil.
Three steeples—three stark swarthy arms—are thrust
Up from the town. The gnarlèd poplars thrill
Down the long street in some keen salty gust—
Straight from the sea and all the sailing ships—
Turn white, black, white again, with noises sweet
And swift. Back to the night the last star slips.
High up the air is motionless, a sheet
Of light. The east grows yellower apace,
And trembles: then, once more, and suddenly,
The salt wind blows, and in that moment’s space
Flame roofs, and poplar-tops, and steeples three;
From out the mist that wraps the river-ways,
The little boats, like torches, start ablaze.”
In this soothing, temporary home, our villa in Quadaloupe, we rise one by one, assemble on the deck in our bare feet, bare arms and legs. We sit in silence and watch the yellow ball lift itself into the red sky. Awake, aware, enlivened by the attention each of us offers this ritual, we watch our day begin.
What attracts me most to the Lizette Woodworth Reese sunrise poem I found (above) is the image of the three steeples, their "stark swarthy arms." I want to be like a stark, swarthy steeple and throw my lusty arms up to the divine rising of my day, this day, this only, very day I have.
All photos and text copyright Kelly DuMar, 2017, unless otherwise attributed
