Article voiceover
Photos by Jonathan Potter ⓒ 2024
1. (7:20am) After days of gray and cold and no sunrise to speak of my beloved suggested I should look out the window. There, I was surprised to see, the sky was a backdrop of mauve, pink, tangerine, and gold.
2. (7:23am) I hopped in the car and drove down Boulevard Saint Charles where the naked trees greeted the rising sun with grateful limbs spread out and their backs turned to the Tuesday commuters tinged in golden light and mauve.
3. (7:26am) Then, lost, except a sliver, I drove till the searchlight sun pierced the trees from its orange waiting room in the clinic of solar psychology, spreading a carpet of light across the icy river.
4. (7:27am) The sun alive and alert above the far horizon, a spear of cloudlight through it, a yellow beret atop its jaunty head, a jumble of orange shadows and light like layers of a dessert.
5. (7:28am) A little further along I come to the memory of summer where the pilings of the yacht club meet the piles of stuff and things with nowhere to be stowed except in dreams of flying south in a song.
6. (7:29am) The old convent on a point stuck out into the flowing river now mostly frozen reminds me of a time I tried my hand at monastic life. But the climax of the sun risen there I now anoint.
7. (7:30am) The lion's mane of the sun holds this moment together. The turbulence of the joy above and the love below, with purple waves breathing in the wash of umber-orange everything and everyone.
A cake that’s too good not to want more, these images, these words are rich.
I love the colors described the sky, they provide dimensions to the poem while the lion’s mane gives it texture.