Watching for the sunrises

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Lately we've had a lovely bunch of sunrises, in that the marine layer has been pushed off, not obscuring the bright start of the day.

To be honest the bright start begins later every morning, lol. Where in mid-summer we fed the hens at six thirty, now we don't amble out until ten after seven. And they're not complaining about it.

Why does this matter? Because it's different. It's pleasant, well, for most of us. My husband prefers clouds. I love him regardless.

Autumn here along the North Coast is when visible sunrises return. Or as much as we see once the sun is above the eastern treeline. I don't begrudge those trees, I'm merely thrilled for a relatively vibrant beginning to the day.

Especially at this mid-September time of year, for it's the time of year my brother Joe would have turned.... Fifty-four, dude! He died days before his twenty-fifth birthday, what a thing. Why I wrote that Suicide Prevention Awareness post a few days ago and this time last year. Why I'm truly grateful for bright starts to the day. Why telling your beloveds you love them MATTERS. Because sometimes a beloved is here, then they are gone.

September sunrise in England the morning after Joe died.

I don't wish to sound maudlin, it's been nearly three decades since he died. That's longer than he was alive, and in another couple of years, more than half my life will be spent without his physical presence. Yet I can hear his voice in my head, asking for Spaghettio's. Calling after my kids, then telling me in a drug-induced haze how he's keeping all the evil forces away. Sigh. He was a drug addict and at times not a nice person. But he was still my little brother and he always will be.

Anyway, that's how my week is beginning. Next up is reading over The Deadfern Miracles, which I am enjoying thoroughly. Then I need to dig through my stash, looking for blues, greens, oranges, and yellows in tonal prints, or as close to tonal as I can find. Which feels wholly appropriate as those colours suggest life and vibrancy and joy. Despite Joe's brutal death, both in how it occurred and the deep hole it left in my heart, healing happened, maybe it still is. The scar is barely visible these days as though gently tucked behind a kind marine layer. Because sometimes the marine layer is just what we need.

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