Wednesday, 25 August 2010

Sun Rise

Okay, here is another little story for you. For GCSE English there is a part where you have to describe something using a load of senses and descriptive language. We did a load of practice in class for it, each with different titles. This is one about a sun rise:

I’ve done it many times before and never have I seen the same sight. I have a photograph recollection of all the times I’ve been here in the same spot and every one is different. I often enjoy looking through them, not only to look at the picture taken, but how technology has changed from black and white old pictures to the ones that I’ve printed from the computer. The photographs however never capture the true essence of what is and what was, never will I be able to recall sounds I heard, feel the touch of the winters icy frost or summers light breeze or smell the freshly fallen dew on cut grass, for never will there be a moment like the one nature will produce now. For everyday is different, we can neither stop time nor call it back, it’s indefinite and brings us hoping and surprises.

Today was the same, a surprise, a wonder to my eye.

It took me longer than usual to get out of the house as I was taking along one of my Grandchildren and although I had told her in order to see a miracle she would have to get up early, be alert, ready and willing. However trying to get a 7 year old up and out of bed is not a task I myself would settle for everyday. Constantly anxious for whether I would miss the start of Mother Nature’s day not wanting to disappoint myself nor Rose for what I had promised her would be a sight she would always remember and trying not to get myself frustrated with her, while she frolicked around the house singing with her tooth brush in her mouth, waking herself up, but also the rest of the household.

Soon we were off. Rose singing ‘Oh What a Beautiful Morning’ at the top of her lungs with power that I no longer am familiar with and me trying to keep up with her carefree skip as we trudged through the park . The fresh spring air was crisp and cool; the grass was still wet from last night’s dew. The droplets glistened without the sun’s rays to reflect off of them, they were different from every angle and as we walked through the grass our shoes became increasing wet. There was a path nearby, but the grass was soft and bouncy on our feet so we stayed where we were. A few early daisies were dotted around, their petals closed to avoid the morning nip in the air. I suspected we would see them fully open showing off their pure flower when we would return this way in a few hours.

We stopped by the old Oak tree, which I guessed to be a few hundred years old. It towered above us high and dense with no intention of stopping. It was in the winter months you could fully appreciate the vast structure of the tree, but in spring time it was just as wonderful watching new buds appear and the green leaves unfold to make a truly magnificent sight filled with life. I saw a few birds starting to appear and soon the morning chorus was in full swing blocking out any traffic noise that ever was. No conductor to tell each singer the timing, no sheet music to tell them what note to sing, and no limit on what they could do. True improvisation. Rose started to whistle along, imitating the calls she heard from around her obviously marvelled by the tunes they were making.

We sat down at the foot of the tree, each sitting on an enormous root erupting up from the ground. I set up my camera, while Rose sat beside me eating the peanut butter sandwiches greedily I had made as a snack, dropping crumbs on the park floor that would most probably be picked up by a hungry bird later that day.

A touch of pink brushed the sky making it blush a furious red colour striped colourfully with lines of blue and lilac as well. From where we sat I could just see the tip of the Sun over the horizon eye level with us. I switched on my camera and stood up, Rose copied me, dropping her peanut butter sandwich and eagerly sucking her fingers clean she took my hand.

Together we watched as the Sun rose, slowly, but at a speed where it changed everything so quickly. Soon the flushed red sky turned orange and yellow as the Sun presented itself into the new day. Pastel colours, like the one’s I find in Rose’s crayon pot flooded the sky with delight. A bird flew across the scene to make it complete blackened out forming a silhouette where the sun shone brightly upon it. I looked to my right there her jaw hanging open in awe stood Rose. I gently let go of her hand and focused my camera on her with our scene and took a picture.

As the sky lost colour and turned increasingly blue, we started to head back. Once back home in the comfort of the house, our shoes on the radiator and a mug of Hot Chocolate in our hands, Rose’s mother asked: “What was it like Rose?”, she merely replied “Good, go and see for yourself.” But I knew she thought it was more than “good”, I knew she found it awe inspiring and wonderful. Because I have a picture which captures memories and sights like that.

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