“Which do you prefer: sunrise or sunset?”
It’s funny. I absolutely adore the beautiful colors, the mixes of purple, blue, and gold that blossom at sunset, but I like the idea of sunrise more.
Sunrise means the dawning of a new day, the endless possibilities that I feel in that moment can still happen, the beginning of something that could turn out to be as special as the day portends. I love beginnings, the chance for more to come, that feeling that anything is possible.
But, for sheer beauty, nothing — and I mean nothing — beats the majesty of sunset. It’s a spectacle unmatched in nature, the beautiful iridescence that melts the sky and turns it into an oil painting. It makes me catch my breath when I have a moment to truly drink it in — which is rare, but perhaps it makes it more beautiful still.
The fact that it’s rare, though, speaks to my dismissal of it in favor of other things. My life moves at full speed more often than not, so taking time to stop at sunset and gaze upon the spectacle just doesn’t really enter my mind. The times I’ve seen it have been coincidental. I just happened to be outside when it happened, and it surprised me every single time.
On the other hand, I see sunrise nearly every day. It dovetails nicely with my need to be in the car and on my way to work, so perhaps in that way I take it for granted. Perhaps if I saw it as rarely as sunset I would appreciate it more, but as it stands I don’t take any time to really observe it, to appreciate it for what it is. And that’s a shame.
So I prefer both in their own ways, the one for its sentimental value, and the other for its practical nature, but I don’t appreciate either one, not that often anyway. Maybe I should do it more. I live in a place where both happen every day. Not everyone can say that.