A Sunrise Song

It’s 8am. The sun prys open a heavy cloud layer, like a cat pushing its face through the blinds. A warm yellow light fills the sky.

I love mornings like these. Quiet. Slow. The smell of fresh coffee in the air.

I pour myself a cup and walk outside. It’s teeth-rattling cold, but stunning. Ice crystals dance and shimmer in the breeze. I take a sip. And smile.

A Mountain Chickadee lands on my knuckle, unphased (or drawn to?) the steam coil rising from my cup. Like smoke from Aladdin’s lamp.

I stand motionless, not wanting to disturb him. A few more steps to his right, and he’s satisfied. Huddled down now on my forefinger. In silent glee, I watch as he dexterously tucks his wings and closes his eyes.

For me, imagination and music go hand in hand. Every idea a song, every nuance a note. This makes thinking about thinking especially colorful. And mornings like this quite the symphony.

What rang clearest today, was the melody of hope. Deep and resounding.

Hope is something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. About where it lives and what nourishes its soul.

I have the good fortune of living on a nature preserve, off-grid in Montana. I’ve been here for more than 15 years, stewarding this special place as best I can. Learning along the way.

In nature, I find hope all the time. As well as in all my fumblings. Both are pretty reliable.

Plants hibernate and return (eco-wisdom).

I fuck up ('tis life).

I keep showing up (hands-in-dirt).

What sustains and nourishes hope, what keeps it going, is effort.1 Dedication toward an end.

American Playwright, Lillian Hellman, said that “things start out as hopes, and end as habits.”2 I like this. Not just because it says something foundational about hope — as vital3 and mooring4 — but also because it suggests that hope alone is not enough. If you want it to come alive, something must be done about it.

This brings to mind for me the Dalai Lama.

“If you want others to be happy,” he said, then “practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.” Either way, want and practice go hand in hand. To wit, if happy is a hope (or want), and compassion is an ingredient, best grab a mixing bowl and pan. This cookie ain’t gonna make or bake itself.

Thinking about hope in this way makes me smile. (And a little hungry). Too often, hope is talked about disparagingly, as something only naivety permits. But hope as habit? This paints a dramatically different picture. Hope can come to fruition by orienting our lives as such and following-through. By what we do.

Today I hoped to greet the morning sky.

To hold a hot cup of coffee in my hands.

To commune with a friend in the cold.

And to listen to the sunrise song.

Did it. Loved it. Now, time to roll up my sleeves and make it a habit.