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a quiet revolution

August 10, 2012

When I was very little my dad worked in a shipping yard down by the river and we had only one car. Every morning my mom would bundle me out of bed, wrap me in blankets, and carry me out to the car with my pillow and my Cinnamon Bear to drive my dad to work. It would be dark and chill out, the air sharp and clean, the porch light yellow. The car would have been idling for some minutes now, surrounded in smoke, ‘warming up.’

I would fall back asleep and wake up again every morning to the sound of the dawn. The sky out the back window would be streaked with flaming pinks and oranges, what I called a sherbet sky. It would be invisibly rent from end to end with the roaring sound of throbbing sunkissed thunder. I would listen as the sound ebbed away and watch the colors dance their imperceptible fade into blue.

I was well over twenty when I realized that there was no way the dawn could make that sound; there was no true song of victory the light made when at last it broke its way across dark sky. By the river is the airport, and every morning I would be waked by the closest, the most epic, the loudest jet of them all. I think the realization caught me too late in life though. My lips still curl into the secretest of smiles when I wake every morning and there’s an airplane going by. Life is what you make of it. In my world there has always been and will always be a sound of the dawn.

I am

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2 Responses to “a quiet revolution”

  1. Beorn Says:

    This isn’t extremely relevant, but the words and the picture reminded me of Orange Sky by Alexi Murdoch which I’m sure you’ve heard, or if you haven’t you should.

    Like

  2. Beorn Says:

    This isn’t Orange Sky, but it’s pretty great:

    Like


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