The Grey

Grey. That’s the color the sky looks the moment the sun begins to rise. It’s not immediate. It starts slow. The sky black, and then navy, and then a shade of blue that has a hint of purple in it, and then, as the earth keeps turning, and the sun keeps coming, the sky begins to turn grey. And the grey isn’t just in the sky, it’s around the trees, and tip toeing on the ground. It puts its hands and face right against my window, and looks in.

It’s not the warm you would expect with the rising sun. It’s tired, and sleepy. It’s still. And for those who have yet to fall asleep, it’s like this quiet when everything stops. The night stops. The day stops. You’re caught between the two in a grey “before.”

Maybe time stops for a few seconds, I’m not sure.  And I imagine it sounds just like “Dream of Thaw” by Balmorhea. When the song ends, the birds start.

 They wake, and sing. If you’re waking, it’s sweet. If you haven’t slept, it’s disheartening. It’s like the world is starting over, but you haven’t started over. You’re still stuck in yesterday.

I’ve been stuck in yesterday a few times this week and last week. A few times, I’ve gotten to bed, and then, I’ve woken up, just before the grey. And I lie there, and decide I’m just thirsty. I get a glass of water, and empty the glass of water, and still, I can’t sleep. Names are on my mind. Endless names. Names I spell out in my mind, and then I pray for.

Other times, I’m caught in a pause, and I don’t even realize the time is moving, that the dawn is coming, until it is here. Those times, I like the grey. I like being awake. The world is sleeping, unaware, and I am there to see the grey, to hear the song, and to know that today has come.

I’m the one to welcome the day, to invite it in, to know that all is well, that the ones who went to bed crying will wake to light, their tears gone; that the ones who prayed through the night, will wake –some prayers answered- in the morning; and the ones who went to bed angry will wake less angry; and the ones who fell asleep next to the person they love, will wake next to the person they love; and the one's who went to bed drunk, will wake, glasses empty, sober; and the one's who were tired, their feet heavy, will be less tired, and their feet, lighter...

I watch from the window like from a tall tower overlooking the world, and I look for the grey, waiting for it to arrive. Ever watchful, hopeful. And as I see it coming, I slip under the comforter, and as the birds begin to sing, I close my eyes, and as all of those hearts beyond my window sleep on, I sleep, knowing that the morning is coming.

Our morning is coming.