Today was the first calm morning in a couple of weeks. It was quintessential November--crisp, clear air, faded leaves floating in earth-tones on the river, and an eerie calm--the flat water perfectly reflecting the trees on the far bank.
As usual these days, in order to get in a long workout, I launch right at 5am. In 40 minutes, I arrive in the basin--that wide area of the Charles River which nestles up to the Boston skyline between its distant bridges.
In mid-November, there are no other boats on the water. College teams have retired for winter training, sail boats have gone into hibernation, and the duck boats don't get up before dawn.
I pause exactly in the middle of the basin, balanced in my slender shell, oars flat on the water. I look at the twinkling lights of the Prudential Center and the Hancock Building which rise up from their neighbors into the dark sky. The Citgo sign, with its neon brightness, is the only color to be seen.
As I feel my own dark insignificance, the first blue light of day whispers on the horizon beyond the buildings. It begins as a faded hint of daylight, it brightens gradually, and then--suddenly--the world is bathed in that blue pre-dawn light.
I silently bear witness to that magical moment between night and day.
I spin, and begin the journey back upriver, where my own day will begin.
As usual these days, in order to get in a long workout, I launch right at 5am. In 40 minutes, I arrive in the basin--that wide area of the Charles River which nestles up to the Boston skyline between its distant bridges.
In mid-November, there are no other boats on the water. College teams have retired for winter training, sail boats have gone into hibernation, and the duck boats don't get up before dawn.
I pause exactly in the middle of the basin, balanced in my slender shell, oars flat on the water. I look at the twinkling lights of the Prudential Center and the Hancock Building which rise up from their neighbors into the dark sky. The Citgo sign, with its neon brightness, is the only color to be seen.
As I feel my own dark insignificance, the first blue light of day whispers on the horizon beyond the buildings. It begins as a faded hint of daylight, it brightens gradually, and then--suddenly--the world is bathed in that blue pre-dawn light.
I silently bear witness to that magical moment between night and day.
I spin, and begin the journey back upriver, where my own day will begin.
1 comment:
that is way to much time off to spin and start rowing again
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