I’m a lucky girl. I’ve witnessed the sun rising over the sand dunes of Arabia, across winding roads in India, above the Indonesian jungle and along the undulating horizon of the Atlantic Ocean, along with many other wonderful places, but the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen just happened to occur in a valley only a short drive from where I spent my childhood.
Green rolling hills gracefully turning into black, fertile fields, fog, wispy like cotton candy, weaving its way along creek beds and a layer of sparkling dew spread out across the world that could even turn my rusted out bull dozer into a jewel encrusted chariot. What a sight!
I was working on a construction crew that summer, saving money to go on another trip. For most of the July day it would be a hot, dusty job, but early in the morning, when the smell of diesel competed with the fresh scent night leaves behind, the sunrise would turn my ordinary day into a mystical land of beauty and promise.
In the distance a rooster called out to the morning, repeating his message until the first ray crested the horizon. A couple of rabbits hopped lazily up beside me, rubbing their eyes and sniffing the air. They sat back on their haunches to wait for the show, just like me. My thermos of hot coffee warmed my hand and the smell reminded me of my place in this world. I was one of the many puzzle pieces in this beautiful picture. This world depended on me to do my part, just as I depended on it.