Writing to the sunrise

Tim Hauserman

My most productive time to work on a first draft is just before the dawn. The quiet softness of early morn rousts me from slumber and a slow drift to the computer. My mind, not yet fully awake, makes no judgements about the quality of the sentences. It just allows the words to somehow make the magical and elaborate journey from brain to fingers and out onto the screen. While out of my brain, it is nowhere near ready for the world. For that, I need to wake up and begin the revision process.

In-between bouts of feverish key pounding, I ponder the tallest white firs, silhouettes intricate against the soft, light blue. The massive sugar pines, however, look like giant weapons. Missile cones wait poised for the squirrel bombardiers to let the cones fly. Often, before I get a chance to return from trees to words, I note the faint arrival of the beginnings of purple and pink in the distance. Sometimes, the promise of bright colors and gentle water, drives me away from the keyboard and toward the unseen lake.

The decision to move must be made swiftly. Beautiful sunrises are very time sensitive events. I gather a coat, camera and shoes, and walk/run my way to the shore. It’s just a half mile to a secret beach, but it seems longer when you fear that you are going to miss the show if you don’t hurry, and of course this early in the morning, you are freezing your butt off. Then, usually later then I would like, but soon enough to catch the full glory, I arrive at the shore. A few ducks float gently by, and I wonder if they understand how lucky they are to be here to witness this spectacle.

The show of colors is glorious. First, comes the dark purples, then pinks amongst the wispy clouds. Just as the brightness reaches it’s zenith, the sun slowly tops the eastern ridgeline, bringing the warmth of the sun and the promise of a new day. A day at Lake Tahoe. I mean, it doesn’t get any better than that.