I wish you could have seen this, Poet. It's not a poem, not even good writing, but it was a moment I experienced in which the window trembled: I have pictures of these very same events, but neither do they give justice.
Milagro Sunrise
Margie called from Uncle Sam's cafeteria. "Come down here and see this sunrise," she said. "Hurry!" she said, "It's changing by the minute!" From where I sit on the south side of the building at this time of year the sun peers through a breach in the mountains only briefly, mid afternoon.
I went to Uncle Sam's on the east side of the building and watched, awestruck. My watch read 8 am. The sky, blood red in the faraway V-shape of Stephens Passage, brooded ever darker as God pulled it over the sparkling city of Juneau like a cloak. Blood red parted, revealing indigo, cobalt, Prussian, azure, aquamarine. Blood red gave itself to mandarin, then to colors no one but God can name.
People came to the cafeteria and stayed, talking in hushed tones. Claudia turned the lights down. All eyes turned east.
My watch read 8:30. The cloak, now clearly composed of shimmering angel down, continued its passage over the city. Seagulls and ravens rose up, then settled back in their resting places. A bald eagle flew by, dipping his wings for a better look.
My watch read 8:45. A small aircraft flew down the channel into the sun, its wings afire. Moments later a jet rising out of the airport passed overhead, a white hot arrow shot into the sun. Forty miles away I saw him change course at the last possible moment. Seattle, after all, was his destination.
At 8:55 a fiery halo rimmed a faraway mountain; then a brilliant arc peeked over the mountain's left shoulder. The sun continued its rise to a quarter circle, a half circle, finally revealing that it would be a round in full. My watch read 9:00 am. The faraway V-notch cradled a perfect sun.
Unable to resist looking directly into the sun fully risen, I closed my eyes and saw it still. Looking away, a red orb lingered on my retinas. Time to go.
My own south-facing window greeted my return. Outside the trees and mountains and snow glowed momentarily, then went dead as the angel down cloak paled into winter grey, finally obscuring the sun altogether. It's grey now, just another Juneau winter day. My thoughts return to last night's moonrise over Thunder Mountain. God made the moon the brightest of the century and cleared up the sky last night just so I could see it. |
