Missed my flight to Austin this morning; will leave at 11:45am instead. In response to this blog post, I’ve just started reading Cities by John Reader. With earplugs and a cup of coffee, Terminal C is not a bad place to read. The light is very good along the windows, and there’s no lack of activity out on the tarmac.
I’m rarely up so early. I saw the sun rise out the bus window, and it was really pretty along the Fort Point Channel docks, looking back toward downtown. Sunrise has a beautiful quality of light, nicer than sunset I think. It’s serene and is more of a silvery blue than sunset. Sunrise feels different emotionally, too — the slow reveal of a landscape that’s been hidden for 12 hours. It uncovers the the potential of a new day, but it’s not an innocent potential. It’s an omnicient potential, and if you’re observant, you might see things at sunrise that you’re not supposed to, perhaps the last moments of some illicit transaction or a crime in progress. Sunset is all glamour, warm and fake, a cloyingly comfy Kodak moment. Sunrise is cold, subterranean, even surly. But it’s genuine, a real astronomical event, clearly stated, evidenced by the dew. And when I see it, I feel part of a small community of dissidents: early risers, alley cats, drug runners and club heads. Where sunset is sold out and overrated, sunrise is an exclusive event, perpetually underbooked, missed for months at a time by most of us who’d rather not face its raw power, preferring vacuous dreams and tight schedules instead. We’re rightly scared that the dawn might quietly reveal more to us than we’d care to know.