Rising

The first thing I saw when I came to consciousness was nothing. Strangely, it's what I always do first, I try to use my eyes above all other senses. I snuggled deeper into the folds of my blanket, tucked my head further under the edge, and kept my eyes closed, enjoying the warmth and security of a good comforter.

I had a long moment to use my other senses while my eyes enjoyed their prolonged break.

Next sense - touch. Not much use, I couldn't feel anything further than fabric. My hand brushed up against my face whenever I curled into fetal position, and I could feel one foot resting atop the other leg, pulling the leg of my pajamas askew. I felt my hair slanting messily across my face - I resisted the urge to blow it out of the way. With me on my side, gravity would pull it back down, and it wasn't like I was trying to see anything, so I let it be. The longer I focused on my sense of touch, the more I became aware of. Not so useless, after all.

I took in a deep breath and inhaled a lungful of crisp, clean air, the kind that's so cold it feels like it's purifying your lungs before your body temperature warms it up and expels it as a cloud of wispy smoke. The air didn't smell like anything, so I took another breath and this time detected something tangy and sharp that momentarily made my nose wrinkle up a bit. It was a smell I knew well, though, and I easily determined its source. I stuck my nose out from beneath the blankets, then quickly drew it back in. No more smells, as far as I could determine.

I couldn't taste anything other than my own saliva, which is basically tasteless since it's in your mouth all the time, so I didn't dwell too long on that sense.

Lastly, hearing. I could hear the wind whistling, very very softly, as it blew past my front door. Beyond that, nothing. My shelter is the strongest there is - even a concrete skyscraper can make grinding noises in a tough wind. My abode was perfectly silent. Beyond the wind, I thought I detected a gentle washing noise, but I couldn't be sure. I had buried my head after all, and that created an effective sound barrier.

I sighed. Even with everything else, so much was out of context without the luxury of my eyes. I hoped I would never go blind.

Just as I thought this, a faint reddish glow appeared. I finally opened my eyes, looking through my long hair at my hands, and beyond that, the bedsheets and a rocky wall. I watched blurry lines sharpen as the sun came up behind me, throwing the crevices in the wall in sharp relief. I smiled. My favorite part was coming.

I sat up, my hair tangled and sticking up in many odd directions. Am I usually so focused on the way my hair looks? It didn't matter. I turned to my right and stared straight into the growing glow of the sunrise.

My house is the best.

I pulled my legs up until I sat cross legged on my bed and watched the sun laboriously heave itself over the rim of the ocean. Most of the sky was still indigo blue, but it brightened to green, then to what I call seashell pink as it got closer to the sun itself, which was surrounded by a halo of cream and the shade of golden maize. The stars were hanging on until at last the green expanded to take them, and they went as silently as they had come. It didn't take long for the sun to fully emerge and change the sky into a riot of scarlet, mauve, and amber streaks, with a little bit of lavender underlining the bellies of the clouds. The ocean, eager to share in the sky's glory, took on a dusky golden hue.

And to think I woke up to this every morning. I may have mentioned, my house is the best there is.

The sunrise was shedding copious amounts of light around my little room now, and I could finally use my eyes to scan the area, making sure everything was as I had left it. My room was essentially an oblong cave that was about 20 feet across, 12 feet tall and extended 40 feet back. I had situated my bed at the very back parallel to the wall (well, as parallel as I could get it along the curved face), along with a delicate wooden nightstand next to where my pillow lay. My favorite shells lay arrayed upon it. To my left and closest to me was a modest little vanity table, with precious little scattered on its surface. Further along that wall was my dining table, a little wobbly on the rocky floor but still very stout. It had a white tablecloth draped on it, and my only vase with withered wildflowers. Dammit, those weeds never lasted very long.

My right wall was dominated by my birchbark canoe. It lay face down, its paddle next to it, and was surrounded by neatly organized boxes and crates - some stacked on a shelf (it was whipped together with driftwood and 8 nails. It's a miracle it hasn't fallen apart yet) - filled with anything I could find or afford: food, clothing, rope, cutlery, dishes, and the like. One box contained my oddities, like my bright strands of ribbon or a silver pendant without a chain. Above all  this I had hung a long rope, supported by two poles in the "corners" of the room. On the rope I hung my dried garden harvest, away from the dirt on the floor. I didn't have a place to cook it in this cave, because a fire gotten out of hand could easily trap me in a heartbeat, so I had a campfire above-ground that I hid with long swatches of grass, in case a curious backpacker came by.  In the middle of my cave lay a braided cotton rug of medium size, undyed but, for some reason, still as clean and creamy as the day it was made - which was quite a while ago. Two rugs of a more modest earthy color lay in front and behind it; the second one was close enough that my feet brushed against it when I scooted forward and stood up.

I enjoyed the warmth of the sunrise as it intensified and drove away the chillingly cold breaths I enjoyed a few minutes ago. My entire cave was bathed in light, because I had chosen last night to leave the curtains pulled back from the mouth of the cave. Someone, a long time ago, had helped me hammer brackets from which to hang the pole and the curtains - a dangerous job. He was the only one who knew about this place other than me, and he had disappeared long ago.

The sky turned a brighter blue as I brushed my hair, and my cave lost its ethereal golden glow. I set the brush down, put on some proper clothes, and walked to the mouth of my cave. My toes felt for the edge and gripped the rim like a vise, to stop me from toppling as I leaned over and stared down the craggy rock face of a cliff.

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I will finish this little blurb next week, as I already wrote far to much for a standard blog and because, well, I just don't feel like it. I do what I want.

Question: Why does the sky turn colors during sunrise and sunset only?

No animal summary this week, also too lazy for that. Maybe I'll add one as an edit?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.