By Johna Till Johnson
Twice a year I can watch the sun rise.
It happens in late fall and early winter—around early November and again in February—as the Earth tilts away from, then towards, the Sun.
The sunrise migrates Northwards and hides behind the big building on the left in December and January. It peeks out again in February on its Southward path, an early sign of Spring to come.
Sometimes a sunrise is more than a sunrise. These words from a poem by Adrienne Rich spring to mind:
Though your life felt arduous
new and unmapped and strange
what would it mean to stand on the first
page of the end of despair?