Chuck Perrin

These last few years, I find myself regularly waking up at dawn, and the first feeling that seeps into my consciousness is a flush of anticipation. I like to get up, momentarily at least, and look East out the window to catch the maiden sun’s rays as they lick and slant, coloring the cobalt sky. Witnessing the evidence of our planet’s rhythmic revolving around its sun is somehow soothing and affirming to me. It signals a fresh slate and reminds me that – as long as I show up, and try to make the best choices I can – anything can happen.
I’ve always loved Emily Dickinson’s take on this: “hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.”
I know, I know, I know, what passes for reality these days – the pretension, the deception, the greed – will wear me out by nightfall, and I will once again fall asleep with a vengeance, buried in blankets, searching for a place to hide in my dreams.
But you can bet I’ll be ready, when the new dawn comes.