A few weeks ago I was on an early morning run in Elm Grove Park. As I turned a corner my eye caught the new rays of sun streaming through the clouds. I even stopped to take a picture; it was just so beautiful. As I continued on my run I had the thought that one morning this summer I wanted to see the sun rise over Lake Michigan. I invited Anna to join me, and she agreed. Who knows if she was as excited about it as I was, but being the good friend she is, she came along.
I woke up at 4:50 that morning and picked Anna up at 5:10. We drove downtown the the lakefront, parked, and walked a short distance to some huge boulders right on the lake. We got ourselves situated just in time to see the rounded edge of the sun peeking over the horizon of peaceful Lake Michigan. We sat there mesmerized as we watched the sun slowly and majestically rise. After a few minutes Anna reminded us we probably shouldn't keep staring at it! We looked away, but with the warmth of the sun on our faces she read a passage to me she had just read the night before.
Light is incredibly generous, but also gentle. When you attend to the way the dawn comes, you learn how light can coax the dark. The first fingers of light appear on the horizon, and ever so deftly and gradually, they pull the mantle of darkness away from the world. Quietly before you is the mystery of a new dawn, the new day.
That was one beautiful morning, and one I have to have again before we leave this place and that massive lake. I've heard it is breathtaking in the winter when the lake is frozen. Granted, I would also be frozen, but I'm pretty sure it would be worth it. :)
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