But there is green poking up through the blackened earth. These tiny threads are short and vibrant like the first shoots in April that poke their heads questioningly from the earth. Is it time? they ask in a whisper. They are vulnerable. There is a good chance it is not time.

It was as if the most spectacular parts of the first hour of sunrise were compressed into a handful of seconds. It was the kind of light where all details are lost.

Today, it slips through three layers of linear clouds. Playing peekaboo. In the last few moments, I am suddenly aware of just how fast the earth is actually rotating. My feet feel unsteadiness where never before. Suddenly the planet, this thing on which I have spent every moment of my life, is not as solid as it once was. I am moving and the sun is still. My equilibrium is off. I’m falling and it’s gentle but unfamiliar.