I can really sense the tempo of the earth at morning. Get a feel for the slow spin of the planet on its axis in its heavenly circle around the sun. It’s a measured pace of big things in a big place, moving at speeds almost outside my ability to comprehend them, except I can stand on the porch in the morning and see evidence of the turn and the circle. I can watch as my piece of ground moves closer to its daily destiny with the star that makes everything possible.

When the star’s light first appears, it lights only the sky. The ground is dark beneath it. Gradually, there is color as the sun begins to come into view, more blue and rose if there are clouds, then gold as the sun grows closer. Ground features appear, still colorless, but waves of light are making their appearance, illuminating the landscape. Light spreads along the horizon. As I watch east, the density of the light seems to thicken as the source comes into view, gold owns the horizon, trees have color. Finally, there is a point of light east through those trees, and the sun owns the day and I have to look away.

I wonder sometimes what I would see if I could stay fixed on this point, in a sort of geosynchronous orbit with the planet, and travel back in time. Stationary above the earth shifting beneath my feet, but constant relative to the sun. What would it be like to see four billion years’ worth of sunrises from the same point on earth? Dazzling, I imagine, and incomprehensible most likely. But nope, I’m only human, stuck in my tiny timescale, a fractional appearance in an ancient universe, and what’s important at this moment, is breakfast. So, I’m going to have some.