Sun Salutations

An Entry from the Diary. On Sunrises, Spring, & Why I Write What I Write

May 1, 2024

Today I woke before the sun. I threw on a pair of blue plaid pajama bottoms that my grandmother gave me and put the kettle on.

I had an intense craving for Earl Grey tea this morning. I seeped a bag in my mug, poured a splash of milk, and put in a pinch of brown sugar. I slowly stirred as I walked outside into dew and color. Eye boogers hardened in my eyes, dried drool on my face, and my hair thrown into an extremely messy unintelligible updo, I stood outside letting the dew graze my skin.

The neighbor’s cat heard my footsteps and came out from under the car. It greeted me with slow movements and sleepy sounds. Goodmorning, I cooed. The cat purred quietly as I pet its head and scratched behind its ears. A blue jay happily hopping around in the grass before taking flight. The sun creeping up into the sky. The cat curled up in a ball behind my legs as I sipped my tea and stretched my arms to the sky. Mornings like this — this much-needed time spent in nature — makes me so nostalgic and soft-hearted.

Nature heals.

I’m writing this essay dressed in a ratty knit cardigan that I found at some dusty thrift store for six dollars. Still drinking that tea I made earlier while Chris Stapleton — crooning some gorgeous lyrics about love — streams through my frail earbuds. The sun is now blaring in the sky.

The impact I’m hoping to make with all of these various letters is to bring you the feeling nature brings me: a subtle giddiness, an all-consuming hope. A reminder of slowness and gentleness. A reminder, also, that softness still exists. And it’s not going anywhere.

The thing about this softness is, you have to continuously seek it out. Find it and cradle it.

What I love best about sunrises, is the same reason why I love Spring as a season: it’s a time in which the Earth seems to be teetering between comfort and newness.

During a sunrise, the Earth holds on to the last shreds of night as the sun arises. Circuits are still chirping, frogs croaking a sleepy song, a cool mist in the air. Yet, the sky is turning pink, blues growing more vibrant, and the birds chirp energetically. It’s a time in which it feels like everything is alive and awake.

During Spring, Earth can’t seem to decide if it favors Summer or Winter. You have the occasional warm day, and suddenly the Earth pours tears, and brings winter back for another day. You start to see creatures you haven’t seen in months. Perhaps they migrated. Or maybe hibernated like I did.

Earth is such a sentimental, deeply feeling being. She and I relate.

Yulani