An early morning jog when the town is sleeping and fog fills the space. The roosters’ crow and cows stir. The fog is so low and thick I can hear trucks and buses approaching long before I see them. This type of morning exudes a sort of peace, a new beginning, there’s a virginity to it, it’s clean, holy, pure, yes a pureness. These mornings give a new start, new hope, a fresh beginning. The air is so moist I can see it. What is that called? Mist? That doesn’t fully capture the experience of this moisture, but whatever it is I’m covered in it. I’m wet with the air. This freshness allows for insights, ideas, and energy. Anything is possible in the crisp morning. With the sun hidden behind hills the day is not yet exposed. The day is still unwritten and can be anyone’s. In this moment, on the precipice of the day, I sense a nearness to the self I want to be, the best of me. The day can be mine! As the sun peeks through, starting to make its mark on the ground, it claims the day. The sun is bold and dominant. The shift begins, and the day is no longer mine, but now it belongs to the sun. Now the day belongs to the pace, the work, the stores, the lists. The possibilities of the morning are no more. The pureness is gone. The sun exposes all, and reality is all that is seen. The sun has emerged and claimed its stake. What I captured during the early morning hours I hope will not fail me nor I it. I hope I can remain true in the demanding sun. - Caressa
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AuthorsCaressa disclaimerPlease recognize this site presents only our own opinions and does not reflect the opinions of the Peace Corps or the U.S. or Nicaraguan Governments in any way. Archives
December 2015
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