Sunrises, Sunsets and Who Watches Them

Fifty-Ninth and Columbus Circle, New York City


MTA Station Exit for the Downtown A Train

5:20AM

It's murky most mornings on the way across the street to Central Park. The huge golden statue is dulled by the darkness to the color of butter with about as much shine. Runners and bikers in knots of three and fours tie shoes, snug up helmets and otherwise occupy themselves as they wait for whoever is late. Someone is always late, someone is always waiting. I run alone so I can just push the Start button on my watch and head down the path into the gloom. It's just a short trot to the Central Park roadway. I can go left and run the 6 mile loop counterclockwise which has more, but smaller, hills or go right and run clockwise with steeper, but fewer, hills. I always go the opposite direction of whoever is running the roadway when I get to it. It's too early to make the decision myself. No matter how early I get to the Park, there is always somebody else there ahead of me.

There are lights. They make big pools of brightness that aren't connected so you run from deep darkness into an elongated glow, just about bright enough to allow you to read your watch, then back into the darkness again. On the West Side as you run up hills by the Theatre, the only light comes from the traffic signals, mushy green, cellophane yellow and then, a sullen red which is neither light nor darkness. I stare at the dim white line of the running lane. In the summertime, to my right, there are hundreds of people sitting or laying down in a line waiting for the box office to open. You can hear them quietly talking to each other. In the winter there is only the sound of your own breathing and the sh-sh-sh-sh of your shoes.

If things are going well I can make the loop in either direction in something less than an hour. When I was working, I would cut over to the East Side and take the 6 train downtown. It would still be dark in the winter, but in mid-Summer, the sun will be up and shining down 59th Street straight into my eyes which is not a good thing when you are trying to dodge early morning delivery trucks and taxicabs. It's more of a nuisance then anything else.

I got to thinking about this the other morning after reading a Ben Jeffries post about sitting and watching the sunrise from his balcony. "Wow," I thought, "Who watches the sunrise?" I tried to remember the last time I watched one. I'm up every morning on vacation in Florida way, way before anyone else. It's dark as I head up the beach and the sun is peeking over the condos by the time I get back, but I don't watch the sunrise. It's just there all of a sudden. It's time to trot over to the grocery store to get what's needed for lunches and breakfast.

Sunsets in Florida are another matter. They verge on being the sacred, a time to gather on the sand or in chairs on the patio and ooh and aah at the changing colors in the sky and water. The ones we are with talk about yesterdays and tomorrows and there is wine. There is joy and solemnity. I often wonder what it must have been like for humans eons ago to watch the sun setting behind a mountain or sinking into the sea, the darkness settling in, the sounds of the night beginning to rise.

It takes a lot of being ready for the rest of the day for a person in this modern age to take the time on a workday to watch a sunrise. I think it's something we've lost, or at least I have. When I think about this as I run I remember that sunrises were probably much more important to the ancients than those ominous sunsets. Sunrises were proof that life would still go on, that fields could be planted or harvested, that travel could begin, buildings built and all things were possible.

The folks at Stonehenge weren't looking at sunsets, they, in huge crowds we know now, were marking the rising of the sun at the ends of it's yearly back and forth travel on the horizon. The sunrise marked for them the true circle of life.

In Japan, the Land of the Rising Sun after-all, there are hundreds of sunrise watching sites. This one is the Husband and Wife Rocks.





Or head to a morning in Tibet in time to see this:

And we cannot leave out the event which is the true center of the Christian Year: The Easter Vigil. People gather every Spring in places as diverse as hay fields to parking lots to mark the coming of the light.



So, have I been missing something by churning up and around the park instead of stopping by the Reservoir for a few minutes to take in the beginning of the new day? Probably. So, I've been thinking, there must be a way I can watch a few sunrises a week. Maybe make it the time that I read my affirmations out loud, have a cup of coffee and  try to envision what the next twelve hours of daylight will bring. Or maybe even that is too active, too busy, too full of purpose. Maybe I should just watch the light change into the morning.

Then see what changes it brings in me.