The morning began with an early alarm. I threw on the dress I'd been wearing the night before and grabbed my camera. Twilight was rising fast, After several flights of stairs, I emerged to be greeted by the vast urban amphitheater encircling me below.
There were a few photos off the northern edge of the building, capturing the hill I'd climbed the previous day as well as the hospital I'd come home from just over 43 years prior. Then, though, I moved to the eastern edge and waited.
5:49 came and went. Shortly, though, the sun peaked slowly over the ridge that made the lip of the bowl around me. Just as the sun appeared to, I knew it was a climb I had made.
The shutter clicked several times, as the bright ball hazed pink on the horizon moved visibly upward. Then, it was done.
I put the camera away, returning to my laptop for some work before a brief nap, some cuddles, and then my escape. The emotional burden was as yet there for me to face, but this wouldn't be the day -- even over a few hundred kilometers alone. Perhaps, indeed, especially not then.