“How do you fathom the making of a sunrise? How do you churn the colors from black to gold? What makes the orange hues dance, signaling the morning? What makes the perfect yellow fade to blue?”
These were the questions that I asked the Sunrise Maker as we met up on top that highest hill. That glorious hill of brilliant green that constantly loomed in the background of our town. This is where the sunrise maker lives, up so stupendously high; high enough to call forth the sun every morning and bring forth the sunrise.
The day before this, I braved the hill and climbed my way to the very top. By the time I had reached its peak, the sunrise had long become sunset, and the stars had come out to dance upon the milky way. The Sunrise Maker lay on his back, examining the cosmos through his tired eyes. It was almost as if he was expecting me, as before I could reach him, he called out to me.
“My child,” he called, still facing the stars, “you’re weakened by the long travel. What caused you to climb this high?” I reached him, and stood there, not knowing what to do. “I want to know the secrets of the sunrise,” said I.
The Sunrise Maker patted the ground next to him. “Lay down next to me, my child, and let us talk for awhile. You must examine the other stars first before you can fathom the sun.”
So I lay down next to the Sunrise Maker, hands underneath my head, thankful for a rest. My eyes wandered the cosmos, tracing constellations, as the sunrise maker and I sat in silence.
It was nearly an hour, before he began to speak. “As you have watched these stars,” he said still gazing out, “what do you notice about the way the stars shine?” “Well,” I answered as best as I could, “each one shines uniquely, each one a different brightness.”
I could hear the Sunrise Maker chuckle lightly to himself. “Yes,” he said, “that may be true, but you can’t quite see the universe like I do. While each star is unique, different size, different brightness; what you can’t quite see is the way of the colors. For each star, my child, has a different color, a different hue.”
I looked out into the cosmos once again, straining my eyes to try and see the colors. But no matter how hard I tried, the stars appeared to me the same way. The lenses of my eyes struggled to focus, and I could hear the old Sunrise Maker continue to chuckle. He sat up and gazed off the side of the hill, but I lay still, still staring out into the universe.
“You can’t force the color into your eyes, it has to find its own way to you.” The Sunrise Maker stood up and began to walk away. I quickly stood up and followed suit, catching onto the sunrise maker’s long sleeve. “But if I can capture the colors of the sunrise,” said I, “then surely I can see the colors of the stars.” The Sunrise Maker only smiled, and continued on his path. I followed his footsteps until we reached his household on the hillside.
He pulled open the door and motioned me in; I daintily stepped through the threshold. We wandered aimlessly through the corridors until we reached the observatory. I gazed around in awe; the ceiling and floor were glass, and all around us were mirrors refracting the light of the cosmos. The Sunrise Maker motioned me over to the center of the circular encompassment, sitting down and patting the space next to him. I moved in silence, taking my place beside him.
The Sunrise Maker raised his frail hand to the sky, extending his finger out to a singular star. “That star there, it shines a bright gold; dipped in caramel it shines ever soft.” He pointed again to a different star. “That one,” he notioned “shines a brilliant red. A ball of flame solitary in its galaxy.” His hand dropped and returned to his side. “Each star is its own sun, home to its own galaxy. It too must rise and set every day, bringing light to its own worlds.”
The Sunrise Maker placed his hands carefully in his lap, intertwining his own fingers with one another. “I built this observatory to help me connect the constellations. To fuse the galactical paths of the suns, combining the hues, blending the colors.” Looking up into the universe still, he continued to speak to me. “In time you too will see the colors. In time you will grow to learn the humm and rhythm of every sun as time goes on.”
I gazed at the Sunrise Maker, his eyes refracting like the mirrors, every star in the vast cosmos. He blinked and sat for a moment or two. “We musn’t sit for long child,” he said reaching once more to shake hands with the stars, “I can feel it in the dark. The sunrise is upon us.”
He promptly stood up and began to leave the center dwelling. I followed him by his heels, step by step through the ever twisting corridors. The longer we walked, the more the lights grew few. The corridors enveloped themselves in a shroud of darkness, and before I knew it, I had lost sight of the Sunrise Maker. I had lost all vision, my eyes lost in the neverending abyss. But alas, I still had my ears, so as best I could, I followed the sound of the Sunrise Maker’s steps, shuffling through the dark.
Time seemed to pass in slow motion until his footsteps finally ceased their sound. I froze in place, for fear that I had finally lost him. But the old Sunrise Maker’s voice broke through the dark. “No need to fear my child, sit down. You have journeyed all this way; scaled the hill to reach me, observed the cosmos, listened to the dark. Now we are here, child, my dear, and you too shall learn the secrets of the Sunrise.”
I obeyed the Sunrise Maker and sat down where I was. Calling out into the darkness, I asked him my first question. “How do you fathom the making of a sunrise?” My voice only sounded back to me, echoing from a place I could not see. I waited in anticipation for the Sunrise Maker’s response, but I was left again with nothing except the ghastly silence.
I tried again, asking my second question. “How do you churn the colors from black to gold?” But again I was left alone with only my voice. “What makes the orange hues dance, signaling the morning? What makes the perfect yellow fade to blue?” I called and called, but I was left with nothing. I felt as if I was floating in a sea of black, nothing but my voice and I.
I called until my voice was but a whisper. All trace of sound had been swallowed, devoured into the darkness. Try as I might, I was met with only reticence.
And then, before my very eyes in came. In a singular moment, the entire room blossomed before me. Full of light, the sunrise came overhead. The colors danced and swirled, mixing themselves around me. They poured themselves into my eyes, flowing into all of my senses. In a moment I heard their sound, calling out, singing to me. As the sun rose overhead, I was bursting with colors, with sounds, with emotions. They rang through my heart, down through my soul, as they returned to the sun.
As the sun lifted itself into the sky, I began to understand. I carried myself slowly out of the room, meandering the halls. I drifted through the light, out of the building and into the open world. All around sunlight whirled and twirled, filling the dark corners of the sky, vanquishing the somber horizon.
Stepping out, I felt every blade of grass as I traveled back atop that highest hill. With every step, my soul traveled, joining with that of the sunrise. My eyes filled with tears, but not that of sorrow. Tears of great happiness, like that of a sparrow. Reaching the hill, I relaxed and sat. Head to the sky, eyes to the sunrise.
I knew deep in my heart the only thing that must be true; the sunrise is for everyone, me and you. For as I saw the colors grow, I knew that the sun could not be controlled. All we can do, is sit back and observe. So now I live upon that highest hill, watching the sky for all time. For I am the Sunrise Maker now, and I teach those the secrets, if the sun allows.