For the past few years, I’ve been lucky to be able to watch the sunset from my apartment. I don’t often get to watch the sunrise, though.
As Miami enters its wet season, the heat and humidity greet you as you walk outside, intensifying as soon as the sun starts to hit the pavement. I’ve been struggling to get out and go for a run after work because the sun sets after 7:30, which means it’s still brutal at 4:30. Runners, if they don’t want to get heatstroke, need to steal their moments before the sun comes up and after it’s gone down.
I struggle with the idea of waking up earlier than I already do to go for a run, but a couple of morning walks I’ve had in the last couple weeks have tempted me.
The sunrise has a different nature than the sunset.
The sunset is loud, announcing its presence with fierce sunlight piercing into the room, illuminating a layer of dust that I need to attend to. It’s red and orange and hot pink, like the rainbow popsicle you get from a hotdog stand in Central Park, dying your lips and tongue the color of pomegranate seeds.
The sunrise is softer, like a cat slowly creeping to nestle in your lap. It’s light blue and peach and pink and yellow, making me think of a baby’s soft blonde hair, or a picnic, or a calm lake. And yet, it bursts with the energy of a new day and a hundred possibilities.
Writing With Abandon 
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