Good Morning, Moon
As I wake, I turn my head. I open my eyes, and the illuminated blue rectangle of my nightstand clock reads 5:20. Run day. I wasn’t supposed to be up this early, but I was. The dreaded, repetitious beep of my alarm was not scheduled for another hour at least. As I lay in the blue light of the alarm clock, the night’s hazy cloud of sleep creeps away from my head, and I begin to think of work, of emails, of calls I need to make, of things I need to do… but today, today was a day that I had planned to run. Those things could wait until after that.
Then my thoughts center on planning my run. If I left at the right time, I might be able to catch the sun rising along my favorite path in County Park. As I lay in bed, I process this in my mind:
- Sunrise is around 7:00.
- It takes 15 minutes to run to the park.
- Plus another 5 along the path.
- The best colors in the sky come out 30 minutes before sunrise…
- I need to leave the house by 6:10.
That leaves me enough time for a cup of coffee and a couple of emails. With my plan set, I wonder, does anyone else think like this? Timing out a run to watch a sunrise? I don’t know, but I continue just the same.
I sink each arm into my fluorescent yellow reflective jacket and head out the door. Watch turned on. A buzz on my wrist signals that GPS is found. I begin to run. My steps are short as I watch the concrete sidewalk below. I look for cracks and raised slabs in the light provided by every passing car as each foot seeks a safe landing, carefully trying to avoid a trip or fall. I see the town center in the distance. Shops are all closed. Town is dark and empty.
I am startled by the sudden bong of a bell and blinking red lights that start to descend in front of me. Then I hear the whistle followed by a shaking rumble of diesel engines. Must be the 6:17. I turn right to run alongside the tracks so I don’t have to wait. In front of me, commuters stand in line for their ride to the city. I think about how they look as they all stare down at their phones as they wait. The devices cast a grey-white light on their faces that makes me think of them as zombies in the night. The train stops and they methodically enter. Three long sounds of the whistle. The ground vibrates under the weight of the steel machine and the train disappears into darkness with a swirl of exhaust in its wake. It makes a cold breeze that blows bitter across my face as I duck under the blinking guard to continue my run.
I head East, towards the sun’s arrival. I can see red beginning to bleed into the bottom of the sky behind silhouettes of leafless trees and rooftops that stipple the suburban neighborhood. I arrive at the park. At this hour, I am its sole visitor. Too cold and too early for others, I guess. Fine with me.
I run along the path, dodging slick white patches and puddles of ice that formed over the night. It is still dark. I wonder if the sunrise will be pretty today. You never can tell.
I arrive at the section of path that goes to the meadow of County Park. I think it is getting lighter. I can see well now as my eyes have adjusted. I see my shadow in front of me. Strange I think, to see my shadow in front of me as I face East towards the rising sun. I make my way to the meadow, around the pond. I turn my head over my left shoulder, and then I see it….
The milky white, enormous titan in the sky casts its glow in shimmers on the water in front of me, creating a gleaming bridge of moonlight across the pond. I stop in my tracks, stand at the edge of the pond with a shadow made of moonlight behind me, and just watch. A beautiful and cold quietness surrounds me as I bathe in the light the giant moon provides. I was not expecting this. I had come to see the sun rise, but got the opposite.
I start to run again. Slowly, I round the pond and fix my eyes towards the moon head-on. I watch it as it seems to balance on the branch tips of the naked winter trees that edge the park. I head back, now West. The moon in front of me guides my way as it grows even larger, yellower, and lower. Behind me, the sun creeps higher, lightening the earth and bringing warmth and life into the woods around me. I feel as if I was caught in a magical gap between night and day, able to see both at once.
On my way out of the park, I see that the park’s second visitor of the day has arrived. I say “Good Morning” to the white-haired guy who comes here to walk his dog named Lassie. I still don’t know his name.
The smell of bacon and toast hanging in the air greets me as I enter the town. The moon begins to hide behind the rooftops of the shops as I run past them. Front windows lit, backs still dark. Shops are still closed except for the deli and the bagel shop. I wave to my cleaner who just pulled his van in front of his shop. As the moon descends, my sleepy town begins to wake.
I cross the cold and shiny steel railroad tracks. The trains have left for the city and I don’t have to dodge the blinking lights and bonging bells this time. I continue to follow the descending moon homeward, where I’m sure my wife has already awoken. I run across the sidewalks and now I can clearly see the cracks and uneven slabs that I need to avoid without the light of cars. The moon still guides me. Almost home, all I can see now is a yellow-orange half circle of a moon, lowering itself behind a fabric of barren trees. A soft pink sky surrounds its landing like a baby’s blanket.
I turn the corner to my street and it is gone.
I walk the rest of the way from here, thinking about how unexpectedly delightful this run was; how some of the best experiences in life are small ones that happen when you least expect it… when you let things just happen… without a plan.
© Mike Bieri 2019
