Previous: Summer X. Pilgrimage
I awoke a little after four o’clock. There was sunlight upon the blind, that pure gold of the earliest beam which always make me think of Dante’s angels. I had slept unusually well, without a dream, and felt the blessing of rest through all my frame; my head was clear, my pulse beat temperately. And, when I had lain thus for a few minutes, asking what book I should reach from the shelf that hangs near my pillow, there came upon me to desire to rise and go forth into the early morning. On the moment I bestirred myself. The drawing up of the blind, the opening of the window, only increased my zeal, and I was soon in the garden, then out in the road, walking light-heartedly I cared not whither.
How long is it since I went forth at the hour of summer sunrise? It is one of the greatest pleasures, physical and mental, that any man in moderate health can grant himself; yet hardly once in a year do mood and circumstances combine to put it within one’s reach. The habit of lying in bed hours after broad daylight is strange enough, if one thinks of it; a habit entirely evil; one of the most foolish changes made by modern system in the healthier life of the old time...
When travelling, I have now and then watched the sunrise, and always with an exaltation unlike anything produced in me by other aspects of nature. I remember daybreak on the Mediterranean; the shape of islands growing in hue after hue of tenderest light, until they floated amid a sea of glory. And among the mountains -- that crowning height, one moment a cold pallor, the next soft-flowing under the touch of the rosy-fingered goddess. These are the things I shall never see again; things, indeed, so perfect in memory that I should dread to blur them by a newer experience. My senses are so much duller; they do not show me what once they did...
Alpha.
It is sad how true for me this section is. On several occasions, while driving taxis, I had to rise early to start work around dawn, and I so loved the light and, even more, the morning air. How can the air at that particular time of the day be so delightful? It is fresher, undoubtedly, but it seems to have other fine qualities as well, perhaps it is more humid? And having the sidewalks and streets to myself gives everything a fresh charm. I even loved walking down the street, pre-dawn, and looking into the empty building lobbies as nearly everyone slept around me, or perhaps some had just began to stir.
I have explored many train stations and airports at dawn -- Inverness, Sacramento, and Minneapolis leap to mind here. There’s a feeling of having stolen a march on the rest of the world. Once I planned with a friend to photograph those rosy fingers of dawn feeling-up the Grand Tetons. Everything went well except for the mosquitoes that were massive enough to be visible in our viewfinders even as we focused on those firm and high peaks. They chased us back to our van as we fled to a less bloodthirsty area.
One dawn I drove over the old Bay Bridge as the sun’s first light illuminated the fog which enshrouded the completely empty five lanes around me. That I had been driving for 24 hours, combined with the magical quality of the light and the strange emptiness of what is usually a busy roadway, made me wonder if I was even really awake or alive. I remember thinking that if I was dead this was a damn cool afterlife.
Not long ago I read that you can reset your personal circadian clock by camping out for a few days (a possible cure for insomnia). Avoiding artificial light is part of the trick, but the other part is that, when camping out, you are likely to go to bed not long after the sun sets and to rise around the time the sun rises. Nature takes control and it is hard not to fall into line. You don’t need to set an alarm clock when you have birds rioting outside your tent at first light. In my limited experience, the longer you are camping out, the closer you adhere to this natural order. And if you are by yourself it is even harder to stay up late as there is nothing to do after the sun sets but climb into your tent and sleeping bag. But, again, the mornings make up for the truncated days. As a natural “night owl,” I may appreciate the early morning -- on those rare occasions I experience them -- even more than does the confirmed early riser. But I probably delude myself there to justify behavior I know I will never change.
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