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Jan. 7th, 2003 05:23 pmAcaDec work: read Social Science; take Social Science practice test; write speech.
English: study King Lear, though I doubet that we'll do anything whatsoever tomorrow.
Personal: sleep. Sleep. Sleep.
Sunrise, sunset. They're both transitions. Most days, we barely notice them: "Oh, it's getting dark early," or "oh, the sky's orange tonight."
We've taken them and made them symbols.
Ben Franklin on the sun on the President's chair: I have wondered whether this is a rising sun or a setting sun. I know now it is a rising sun.
Both are beautiful. Each day's is never the same. Different colors, different clouds, a different feel to the air. A sense of specialness, of separation from the mundane, quotidian(sp?) routine. The sky, blue or grey or black, begins its change.
Sunrises always seem more peaceful to me. Ordinarily, it's too early for the demands of the day to make themselves felt. I'd be lying if I claimed to enjoy awakening early enough to watch the sun come up, but the sight of the sunrise: the carmine disk of the sun just barely touching the street, giving a rosy tinge to the prosaic houses; the sky, never that particular shade of almost-white, moving out to a pale, clear blue, the first light, still cold, touching my face. It's quiet here. I have a space to breathe.
more later, Isaac needs the phone
English: study King Lear, though I doubet that we'll do anything whatsoever tomorrow.
Personal: sleep. Sleep. Sleep.
Sunrise, sunset. They're both transitions. Most days, we barely notice them: "Oh, it's getting dark early," or "oh, the sky's orange tonight."
We've taken them and made them symbols.
Ben Franklin on the sun on the President's chair: I have wondered whether this is a rising sun or a setting sun. I know now it is a rising sun.
Both are beautiful. Each day's is never the same. Different colors, different clouds, a different feel to the air. A sense of specialness, of separation from the mundane, quotidian(sp?) routine. The sky, blue or grey or black, begins its change.
Sunrises always seem more peaceful to me. Ordinarily, it's too early for the demands of the day to make themselves felt. I'd be lying if I claimed to enjoy awakening early enough to watch the sun come up, but the sight of the sunrise: the carmine disk of the sun just barely touching the street, giving a rosy tinge to the prosaic houses; the sky, never that particular shade of almost-white, moving out to a pale, clear blue, the first light, still cold, touching my face. It's quiet here. I have a space to breathe.
more later, Isaac needs the phone
