Lying in bed. Shifting hues of blue softly illuminate the room. Now is somewhat sacred. For with this hour, I am not closely acquainted. Normally, my awareness at this segment of a day is only that I am subconsciously in existence.
Over the past 1200 minutes I’ve pondered things of simplicity. One item probably of little significance to others, the word Sun-day; taken literally. A chaos of associations with the origination of the word have been dazzling around my synapses. For some reason, the one sticking out most to me, is the hunch I have that today is going to be quite sunny, not because it’s San Diego, but because it’s Sun-day.
Each moment that ends when the next begins, anxiety and excitement catch me by the arm. Will I continue this disposition of alertness and witness the instant the room segues from indigo into orange; or will I again slip fast into slumber?
A brief though my mind of dressing and venturing for a morning jog—or brisk walk-- depending on what my body would allow. I am weak. A morning 48 hours prior to this one, waking up was not so pleasant. Excruciating pain stemming from my eye pulsed and spread throughout my body. A trip to the center of ophthalmology and center of diseases and surgeries of the eye informed me of some not-so-fantastic news. A vision-threatening virus had entered and attacked my cornea, which also created a picky-back virus to reside in the rest of my body. Cute, it made itself a companion.
Ah ha! T’is orange! Orange. At 6:44am. It’s evident because the room is now in a neutrally lit stance. Its funny how on the color wheel, blue and orange are opposites. Like man and woman, like cats and dogs. For those of you non-art people, that means they cancel each other out, when placed side-by-side, the other pops. When mixed, they make brown. That was no accident. What an insanely creative artist the Man Upstairs is and how thoughtful. How our eyes were designed to react to such placements of various combinations of hues and to comprehend optical illusions as true. Often times I find myself counting the number of colors stacked on top of the pacific. Beginning from the bottom, up. Probably every time I reach the crossover from “Y” to “G” in “Roy G. BIV”, I get a little giddy. Like being first introduced to the creative acronym. Something about pastel lime in the sky gets me every time. I suppose because when considering the sunrise any other time of the day, “I love the green!” is not what most would say. Maybe its subtlety is what gets me. How slightly yellow slides up to blue, creating a short path of green. And how it somewhat, in a tricky placement of atmosphere from our perspective, seems to defy gravity; for the natural force pulls down, and yet the colors stretch upward and across the sky. I wonder if in heaven, people still have a favorite color?
No comments:
Post a Comment