The Wise Novelist


Sometimes a sunrise brings you hope.

When I was much younger, and single, a sunrise told me I made it through another night. Some of my friends back then didn’t. Still, seeing the sun come up on my way back to Aunt Violet’s Flop House usually meant I just had a great time. Some of those stories made it into Finding Jimmy Moran. And as today’s public service announcement, for purely legal purposes, none of them ever happened and don’t try this at home.

When I was a little older, and had young children of my own, seeing the sunrise meant that my wife and I probably had been up with a sick child. Nothing tragic, just the run of the mill flue and croup, with the occasional measles or ear infection, so I count my blessings. Funny how a child’s fever usually breaks just before sunrise. Sometimes sunrise was the view out of a private car service window after an all-nighter at work. Nothing fun about either of those options.

Now I see the sunrise every day. My circadian rhythms are permanently askew, so I’m up at 2 am. But that’s okay, after six years I’m used to it. Sometimes I don’t notice the sun when I’m on my rounds. Sometimes, like today, it keeps grabbing my attention. I have no other choice but to notice it. If it is particularly beautiful, I snap a photo. This morning I snapped two.

Sunrise these days usually means that my creative day has ended. I have to start functioning in the real world. But now that I’m older, and I am no longer worried about making a name for myself in my daytime profession, the work days are more palatable. I also get to take care of the chores around the property.

Finally, now that my children are grown and I need a hobby, I get to check on the fur family.

I do check on them during the night, when I go out to feed the mules at 2ish and the cats at 4ish. But during the day I get to spot them out a window or doorway doing their thing, hopefully without a care in the world.

Yesterday afternoon I spotted post miracle Whitey just hanging out on the warm sidewalk off my front porch.

It seems Whitey has decided to stay close to the grotto for now. And that’s just fine. Below, a little later, he’s having a conversation with three fairies in the grotto. Probably asking “What the fuck happened Sunday?”

Right off to the right of Pan’s head you can see the impression my big ass left in the grass. Thank God the earth was softer than my ass.

Smokey remains a fixture, the primary living tenant in the grotto,

although she still does her neighborhood rounds during the day. It’s strange that, just like Honey keeps me at bay while Claire is a cuddler, Whitey keeps his distance while Smokey is more than happy to rest in my arms. Different strokes.

So today the sunrise looks like it’s welcoming a good day. I’m getting to see an old friend from my GF&M days, who is in Boulder dropping off his son at college. I’ll be sure to give an update tomorrow.

But before then I need to get some work done.

I’ve already cuddled my kitty and completed my rounds. I spent the rest of the early hours stargazing and trying to master Dr. Steven Greer’s CE5 Protocol while sitting with a coffee on my back deck, staring up at the stars this morning.

I’ll let you know if it works, or maybe Lisa will find my empty chair and coffee cup out there one morning. How cool would that be?! Now that I have The Claire Saga finished, I’m down for a new adventure. Beam me up Scotty!

Anyway, right now I have to deal with the mundanity of human existence.

I’ll leave you fine, five readers to your own labors for a while.

But it is Tuesday, so Monday is behind us. And that is always a good thing.

And remember, let’s make today a great one.

3 Responses

  1. You can take the Boyo out of the Bronx…. but you can’t take the Bronx clock out of the arse-planting Colorado transplant….

      1. I feel the same about sunsets..yesterday was amazing as we watched the sunset at beach with two of our three beautiful grandchildren. I sat there thinking this is a day for the books and how fortunate I am.

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