Rose ran into the bedroom early this morning and exclaimed: ” Flerbiddle nomcom rar ru rarake? Nerwod brakony unsee!”
How can you ignore such enthusiasm?
I’m a sensitive male. I knew something was up.
It could only be one of two things: She was either simultaneously brushing her teeth and talking or doing the 20-minute coconut oil swirl (which yields shiny white teeth and healthy gums).
Either way, aware that Rose is a well-bred lady who never talks with her mouth full, this seemed kind of important.
Like little Timmy following Lassie to the well, I ran behind Rose to the balcony.
It was the sunrise.
The big canvas was doing it again: How often do you get a horizon so huge that it holds two, three and four different cloud formations at once?
Kind of often. For sunsets, too.
But I never grow tired of either one, nor the infinite variety of celestial patterns , washed in a stunning chromatic scale of colors — reds, oranges, blues, blacks, whites and grays — colors so intense and varied they carry their own sound.
Have you ever heard the sound of a sunrise?
You can you know. If you are quiet enough and sit peacefully enough as the sunrise unfolds. As each new layer of color bursts across a fresh pattern of clouds, listen. Listen intently. The spreading light is like a symphony, yours to hear and feel, if you only let yourself go into the moment.
And then it is gone. Swallowed up in the brighter, whiter light of day.
It is moments like these, on mornings like today’s, that I feel so grateful to be living on Ambergris Caye in Belize.