Sunrise with Moon

As summer approaches solstice, I find myself waking earlier and earlier. On Saturday, I woke before 5:00 am and I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I got up and went out to the living room, where a beautiful morning had dawned. A clear blue sky, filled with tender light that had shone on the yellow buildings in the distance while nearby rooftops remained in shadow. Wispy clouds, mauve and lavender. And above them, a bright, waning gibbous moon. No motion of animal or human, except for two gulls tracing long loops between the buildings like the tip of a conductor’s baton. The rising sun cast long shadows beneath the slender young street trees, and set the white flowers of hydrangea bushes glowing. The city for once was quiet, tremulous. I sat in the window and watched, knowing this light would only last for a few more minutes: an announcement of day, but not yet day; a film set on pause, about to be played.

It was June 14, the day of the nationwide protests in America. The dawn here, above the border, felt auspicious. I meditated on it, hoping for a peaceful day, one where many people would feel less alone and perhaps even joyful in the company of like-minded others. And so it was, for the most part. Even without the media attention it deserved, the day will, I think, be remembered as the one in which the resistance coalesced, and people’s resolve strengthened, as they said not only a resounding “No!” but became aware of a collective “Yes” affirming who they are and what they want to be.