The Sun Also Rises
December 22, 2016 § Leave a comment
Rushing through the morning tasks that all need to be done before I’m out the door to work, I caught a glance of pink out the window. The sunrise had turned the high, striated clouds into bright cotton candy. I stepped outside, snapped a photo with my phone, and posted it to Facebook with a title stolen from Hemingway. (It’s okay; he stole it from the Bible.)
A moment later, the hidden sun transmuted the cotton candy to spun gold. I took another photo, but my phone captured it more as a flank of salmon.
I seem to be hung up on sunrises lately. The rising sun heralds a brand new day, full of undiscovered promise. At the moment when our very own star crests the horizon, the day has yet to decide what it will become.
Yesterday may have been tragic, or dark, or painful. The new day doesn’t care; like a rebellious teen, it’ll do what it wants.
Hemingway wrote The Sun Also Rises in celebration of his generation’s strength. They’d suffered through World War I and all of its horrors, and they’d survived. They drowned the nightmares of that war in fine Parisian wine and rich food and raucous celebration. They outlasted the dark days, and the sun rose again for them.
The sun sets. The long, cold night swallows you, lies to you, tells you it has eaten the light and all hope with it. Tells you this darkness will be endless.
But the sun also rises. It rose for ancient Kohelet, for Hemingway, and for all who came before and after. It rose today. It will rise tomorrow. Sometimes the clouds thicken to hide it, but it rises nonetheless.
The sun also rises. The darkness always ends.