I tend to wake up early; sometimes at 3, sometimes at 4.
Always while it's still dark.
This morning I was sitting at my computer, drinking a cup of coffee. My computer sits in a small room off of my living room. It has 7 windows, 3 of which face east. I opened the curtains to watch the sun rise.
My 7 year old came downstairs. I pulled him onto my lap.
"Look at the sunrise," I told him. "Isn't it beautiful?"
He sat quietly. He rested his head under my chin. I breathed him in, even as my leg grew tired from his heavy body.
Our day went on.
And then, the world went mad here in Boston.
My hands shook. My voice shook. The tears came. I kept my sons away from the television
As night time crept closer, I began to feel the vulnerability seep in. The house made a weird noise. The light cast a scary shadow. I know I won't sleep tonight.
As I was putting my 9 year old to bed, I looked out his westward facing window.
There was the slightest glow remaining as the sun dipped below the horizon. The sky was a deep, midnight blue, not quite black. The moon stood out, a bright sliver. Venus was out.
There was beauty, even on a day as ugly as this.
The sun rose and then set, bookmarks to the madness.
Love and prayers to the victims, their families, the witnesses, and the first responders.
And to this city that I love.
This city that is home.