I have always worshipped the dawn, particularly during the warmer months when you can leave the windows open and let the birds sound a tribute to Eos on her flying chariot, growing ever nearer, soon to break through the darkness. I hear cymbals and then light bursts through the kaleidoscope of dreams and they break into ice crystals and float into space past all those constellations named after Greek gods.
But I’m generally too lazy to get out of bed.
Sometimes I will try to return to my dreams but as the room grows lighter, they become merely memories sorted into the wrong bins. It’s a shame because often I have my clearest thoughts during that time. At least, I think they’re my clearest thoughts but then I’m not even 100% sure that I’m even awake. It’s a blissful feeling but not every writer has felt the same.
Philip Larkin, Aubade (lovers separating at dawn)
I work all day and get half-drunk at night,
In time I see what’s really always there,
Unresting death, a whole day nearer
Hey Death, can you take a rest already? This persistence of your’s is a pain in the butt. Let a guy get drunk at night and wake up without seeing your ugly puss.
Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale; look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east;
Night’s candles are burnt out and
day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
Translation: Dawn, you’ve come to ruin my love life once again. Eventually cruel circumstance will force me back into the arms of fair Rosalind. Or perhaps I will opt for death instead.
Luckily musicians seem to have a different reaction to the thunderclap of Dawn. How about you – sunrise or sunset?