Light Creeping In
The day does not begin with a sudden burst from night to morning. No, it arrives slowly, like a gentle visitor easing its way into the world.
Dark skies shift first to deep gray, then to silver blue. Dramatic streaks of red and orange slice through the horizon, while soft swaths of pale-yellow filter downward. From my bed, I watch the light’s gradual entrance, its beams dancing across the tall teak closet at the foot of my bed.
The wood’s natural swirls of rich browns, soft golds, and warm tans, come alive under the golden glow. The windowpanes behind me cast a crisscross of light across the doors, and the patterns shimmer, flicker, and then fade as the sun climbs higher.
Outside, the brilliance of sunrise retreats into the full blaze of day. The closet remains, still beautiful, but somehow less magical without the sun’s fleeting stamp of gold.
No matter. Sunrise always returns, bringing its eternal reminder: beauty is not only seen in the light of day, but in those in-between moments when night surrenders to morning and the world awakens to possibility.
This reflection is part of my Listening to the Day series exploring the quiet unfolding of mornings in Ghana. Here’s another one you might like: The Neighborhood Awakens.
