Whether you watch the sun rise over the pyramids, the Rocky Mountains, the Atlantic or Pacific Ocean or just your own back yard, the sensation is one of imperturbable tranquility.


The splendour is as fleeting as the moment of inception that creates the awe. Like birth itself, once the sunrise is accomplished the rest is up to you.  It is pleasing to linger upon the regeneration spectacle, to monitor the aimless flight of birds or the changeable face of the sea.  But eventually one must scale the wall, swim the sea or cross the field; we are not mere observers.

It was forty years ago almost to the day that I took up the trowel that was to be my instrument of professional expression for the rest of my life.  With undaunted regularity I submitted to the mantle until it at last slipped from my shoulders like so many disintegrated pieces, wasted by tireless use, a worn and dilapidated harness.  It was time.  A new day had dawned.

I won’t pretend that my nights are now free from anxiety or that I can fathom nothing but phlegmatic contemplations.  Yet there is certainly a new agenda, one which is strangely free of resolve other than to savour life.  I amuse myself by conceding to fanciful designs (though I tactfully avoid anything that borders on routine).  The awakening of each new day is paramountly an opportunity for pleasure and discovery without the burden of obligation or devotion.  I own the liberation astounds me!  It is a thrill carefully to be guarded.

It must equally be admitted that like the horizon upon which the sun rises there is now a formidable expanse of possibilities. Almost nothing is off-limits, the range of interests is virtually boundless. Yet grasping that opportunity is no easier than it was upon one’s first glimpse of a sunrise.  To replace yearning with action, to translate birth to living, requires its own animation.  I am yet grappling with the circumstances that make it possible.  For now I content myself to watch the sun rise, an interloper without occupation.

(Sittin’ On) The Dock Of The Bay
Otis Redding

Sittin’ in the morning sun
I’ll be sittin’ when the evening comes
Watching the ships roll in
Then I watch them roll away again, yeah