It’s sunset time, as my partner says — a phrase so logical it’s become something I say now, too.

Just like autumn always speaks to me of going back to school… field hockey and soccer… sunset time often takes me back to my childhood.

Memories of kneeling on the couch cushions, eyes fixed out the window, down onto the street below… waiting… And when a spot is free nearby, hearing the familiar sound of the parking brake. Pulled up just that way. Sharp. Quick. Someone is home. I exhale, only to hold my breath a little bit again… awaiting the emotions they bring.

Hoping they arrive gleeful and warm, not stressed or exhausted.

Depleted.

I understand it now, though I’m not a parent, and don’t work outside of the home. But I know enough people who do. Now I get it.

But, regardless, it was what it was… and this sunset time… sometimes brings these memories. The sense of anticipation, mixed with a little fear.

Dinner, rush, feeding… And then calm. Then connection. Stories. Songs. Bed.

And repeat.

Today I got up before sunrise, which wasn’t hard because the sun doesn’t come up until 8:15. But with the sun comes the warmth, and so sometimes it’s hard to get up beforehand.

And I thought, today — it must be strange for my mind, body, and spirit — to see so many sunsets, and so few sunrises.

To watch so many endings, for I always try to, for I love the play of colors over the trees… and to see so few beginnings.

So I decide, this morning, to try to watch the sunrise more often. To feel the start of each day, to sense each new beginning. To observe and try to drink in the calm, the rising. To seek more nourishment from these fresh starts. To see the potential for inspiration.

Just as it happened today.