Forty-nine 12/1/11

• 38 degrees, 32 wind chill.  Mother Ocean slipped slow and still onto the sand.  The narrow cloud band at the skyline between me and Sunbella became fiery embers, then a sailboat silhouette in her glow as she topped the horizon.  Birds sang out as soon as Sunbella was fully revealed, announcing "the day begins."
• This morning I wondered why I even get up.  No one would know if I didn't.  Wondered why I should write about the sunrise.  No one would care if I didn't.  After tears and the urge to ignore Sunbella's rising and go inside where it's warm, I realized I get up and write the sunrise because of hope.  Seeing the sunrise unfold in a different way every day reminds me nothing stays the same.  If I keep getting up and watching, there is always a surprise, a shift, mystery, beauty, and maybe even a dazzle or two.  I'm glad hope kept me on the balcony this morning to witness the glorious sunrise.
• Thinking about sitting at my dining table alone with my writing notebook today had me paralyzed.  Someone once said something like -- writing is easy, you just slice open a vein and let your blood pour out onto the paper.  That's how I felt anticipating today's work.  So I'm getting the hell out of here.  Taking myself to a mall to people watch.  Who knows what kind of creative fire that may spark?
• This is day 49 that I've been in MB, and I am 49 (not today, just in general).  That feels like an omen, like there's something special going to happen today, something to confirm that I'm on the right path being here and writing.  Hope I'm not just wishful thinking.