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It’s exactly 6:21 a.m. as I begin to write this blog. I’m surprised to be sitting here at my desk. But my actress girlfriend had a very early call for a commercial this morning, so I got up to hand her coffee and see her off. And I thought, What the heck – why not get an early start on my week? Besides, I’ve been wanting to catch my newspaper delivery person’s act. When you live in the right kind of South Florida condo, only a few floors with exterior walkways, these news carriers just heave the daily paper to your door. Yep, they actually fling the sucker three or four floors without breaking windows or sending it to your neighbor’s place. I’ve often heard my newspaper land with a thwunk but had yet to see the big toss. I stood around outside for a while waiting for the delivery guy and noticed how fresh the air felt. Then I looked up.
The early morning sky was unexpected. Despite the lights all around my large condo complex, despite the urban light haze in the distance, I could see maybe 20 clear stars off in one small section of the sky that was visible from my third floor walkway. One very distinct star dominated, perhaps it was a planet, but the others surrounded it in soft pinpoints.
No one else was around. I didn’t even see lights in any windows yet. There was no hint of sunrise in the eastern sky. That’s when I thought about how odd the South Florida landscape appears to me at this time of day. In the past, I usually had observed these early, early hours from a different vantage point – after a long night out playing rather than before a long day in working. But the effect on me seems much the same. Palm trees and bougainvillea and hibiscus feel almost lost in the pre-dawn isolation. To me, anyway, it’s as if the tropical environment requires light to come alive. It can be the intense, relentless sunlight of a typical South Florida day or the cool, dreamy moonlight of a languorous South Florida evening. Either way, there’s an exotic romance to this area but only when bathed in a wash of light. For the moment, though, the light was still half an hour or more away. But I did finally see my newspaper carrier make that heave, just a quick flick of the wrist. He made it look easy. I poured some coffee for myself and sat down at my desk, opening the blinds to watch for the first suggestion of daylight.
The early morning sky was unexpected. Despite the lights all around my large condo complex, despite the urban light haze in the distance, I could see maybe 20 clear stars off in one small section of the sky that was visible from my third floor walkway. One very distinct star dominated, perhaps it was a planet, but the others surrounded it in soft pinpoints.
No one else was around. I didn’t even see lights in any windows yet. There was no hint of sunrise in the eastern sky. That’s when I thought about how odd the South Florida landscape appears to me at this time of day. In the past, I usually had observed these early, early hours from a different vantage point – after a long night out playing rather than before a long day in working. But the effect on me seems much the same. Palm trees and bougainvillea and hibiscus feel almost lost in the pre-dawn isolation. To me, anyway, it’s as if the tropical environment requires light to come alive. It can be the intense, relentless sunlight of a typical South Florida day or the cool, dreamy moonlight of a languorous South Florida evening. Either way, there’s an exotic romance to this area but only when bathed in a wash of light. For the moment, though, the light was still half an hour or more away. But I did finally see my newspaper carrier make that heave, just a quick flick of the wrist. He made it look easy. I poured some coffee for myself and sat down at my desk, opening the blinds to watch for the first suggestion of daylight.
posted by LauderBLOGGER at 12:05 PM
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