Maybe not the longest day of the year, but it was the beginning of a pretty long day. And it was a fine one.
June 22nd, our first morning on Sutton this year, dawned in its usual, soul-stirring, peaceful brilliance. I left the curtains open on our eastern-facing windows, so it wasn't difficult to meet the day, despite the early hour. When that first crimson glow swells over the horizon, something flutters in my chest, and it's hard not to get up, and out, to feel the wind on my face and watch the daily silent splendor of our mother star rising over the ocean.
What a strange combination of steadiness, routine, and dazzling drama all rolled into one event. And how strange to think that most of us sleep through this free exhibition every day.
It has been a lovely stretch of days with several of our children and their friends coming and going. Of course, their presence pulls me from my solitary workings on writing projects, but I am getting better at finding my own rhythms and adapting to the varying pace of life, as family and friends flow in and out of our home like the rising and falling of the tide.
The island is an extraordinary tonic. And there can be no better place to watch the sun come up. What a reassuring moment - to witness this new beginning. It can signal the commencement of inspiration, consolation, contemplation, whatever you need to set under way.