Category: Nature

October’s Edge

Octobers in the Bay Area can bring rough heat waves. When the rest of the country seems to be cooling down and settling down into the beautiful colors of fall etc, Bay Area can feel dry, hot and a distinct wish to the universe to bring in the rains already.

Last week parched us all. The bright side of these scorching days were the sunrises. We had several days in which the sun’s rays burst forth, resplendent, and glorious.

Even the brilliant sunrises were not enough through. As I drove past the browning hills, I wished for rains. Then, as the days went on with the temperature relentlessly in the 90s, I settled. I just started to wish it would cool down. Forget the rain. Stop scorching please.

Bike rides

Last week-end, when the temperatures did start to drop, I took my bike out and went on a long ride through the riverside and lakes before hitting the bay. The cool breeze felt marvelous against my face. I biked on, listening to birdsong and taking in the gaunt river-bed – eaten bald by the starving goats, and the river barely a trickle. I biked on towards the lakes and saw that entire lake-beds had dried out too. I felt a pang for all the fish that lived there. The ducks, geese and pelicans had flown to wetter pastures or maybe had migrated due north.

In spite of this dry outlook though, I enjoyed the ride. I rode through a section of the trail with the waters of the bay on either side, enjoying the slow lull of the lapping waves, the quiet sound of breeze, and the occasional splash from the western grebes and avocets as they swooped into the waters nearby. An absurd part of me scanned the waters for the whale that got lost, and swam to Sacramento. Could it find its way back here?

I started back home eventually, somewhat reluctantly I admit. I would have liked to spend the whole day out there by the ducks, avocets and pelicans. To quiet the cacophony of expectations and ambitions, and belong in a place where no human voices could be heard. To rest. Luxuriate in the unhurried perfection of nature. Watch the herons stand for hours on end in the shallow waters by the shore.

The tranquillity of the water’s edge is enough to take the edge off October’s demands. 

I did head home eventually, rejuvenated in every way. The expansiveness of the trail and the waters are still intact when I close my eyes. To that, I am grateful.

Which Planet Are You Feeling Like Today?

Learning to Teach Science

One evening, I trudged up the hill to my classroom. It was after a long day of teaching, and I had spent a hot hour commuting to the university for my teaching credential lessons. The evening’s session was on learning to teach science. It is one of my favorite classes, but I did not envy our professor who had to infuse engagement and learning in a bunch wannabe-teachers after we had sent the whole day and week teaching. She is an excellent educator and never shies away from the task though. Somehow, she ends up making us feel invigorated and inspired to teach science by the time we leave, and that is noteworthy in and of itself.

Really, I am glad some people chose to develop others as teachers, and are so generous with their time and talents.

Moody and Muggy – like Venus?

This class, she chose to have a guest educator come in, and the lesson they had planned will stay with me for a long time. She had us answer a question related to our solar system as we walked in. She asked us which planet’s moods matched our own. Hot and muggy like Venus, or dealing with too many moons like Saturn.

  • Mercury: swift orbit – cratered surface
  • Venus: scorching heat – thick clouds
  • Earth: liquid water – teeming life
  • Mars: red dust – massive volcanoes
  • Jupiter: big red spot  – swirling storms
  • Saturn: beautiful rings – gas giant
  • Uranus: tilted axis – ice giant
  • Neptune: supersonic winds – deep blue

It was an interesting exercise and she soon solicited a few responses. Some felt they could be like Uranus or Neptune just to freeze or pause for a moment, or maybe just to escape the heat of the past week. 

A giant step is ?

Soon afterwards, she led us outside to the sprawling campus grounds overlooking the bay. The sun was beginning to dip in the sky, and she said a little walk might do us all a little good. We agreed and off we went. She set up a traffic cone in one spot and called it the sun. Then, she had us estimate the number of steps we would have to take if the scale was : one giant step  ~~ 10 million kilometers.

We guessed and took the steps placing the cones as we went. We only went up to Saturn, but it was enough to get us out of our heads, and into an expansive space. A place to let go of our daily worries and revel in the grand universe we belong to.

A simple search gives us this, but walking outside and acting silly with our classmates as we took giant steps never teaches us things the way a textbook or video does.

If 1 step = 10 million km, here is the step-by-step distance from the Sun out through the solar system (rounded to the nearest whole step):

Sun to Mercury: 6 steps (~58 million km)
Mercury to Venus: 5 steps (~50 million km)
Venus to Earth: 4 steps (~41 million km)
Earth to Mars: 8 steps (~78 million km)
Mars to Jupiter: 55 steps (~550 million km)
Jupiter to Saturn: 65 steps (~646 million km)
Saturn to Uranus: 143 steps (~1.43 billion km)
Uranus to Neptune: 165 steps (~1.65 billion km)
Neptune to Pluto: 140 steps (~1.40 billion km)

The more I live and experience life, the more I realize how little I know.

As we headed back inside, my head was already buzzing with a dozen different activities I could do with the children with this simple activity. They would never forget scales, and the enormous universe we live in once we had tried this.  Everything can be wondrous.

Where is the time?

The only problem is the classic one faced by all teachers. Where was the time? There is precious little of it given all the curriculum demands, testing requirements, standards to be met, small-group coaching, differentiated learning for different skill groups etc. Dedicated teachers try their best, and learning all that goes into running a smooth classroom, is something I am enormously grateful for.

Excerpt from Billy Collins poem: 

Early People – By Billy Collins Book: Whale Day & Other Poems

“Teaching is a noble and time-honored profession,
But little is known about it
Because no one is allowed in the classroom
Except the teacher and the students”

As we babbled our way out after the class, we were an invigorated bunch full of ideas to try out with the children, and I saw our Professor’s smile turn wider and fill her face, as we thanked her.

My mood, as I walked back to the car after a long day, matched Earth – teeming with life and ideas.

I wish I could give my own students lessons like these over time- lessons they will enjoy and remember. Even if they do not remember the specifics, it is enough if they remember feeling awe, accomplishment, sighing with understanding, and being happy to be learning.

Lost Whales – Look up!

Whale? Lost?

We tend to get inordinately excited by tales of whales. And why shouldn’t we? They are gorgeous creatures with songs of their own, lores and stories of their own, family structures that helps them navigate the whole planet together. All done with a sense of joie-de-vivre that we would do well to embrace.

The other day, there was a news item about a humpback whale spotting in the Sacramento River.

https://abcnews.com/video/136549664/

Humphrey the Lost Whale

This sparked a fascinating conversation with my younger colleagues who had grown up here in the Bay Area. Many years ago, they said, excitedly, their voices and the color in their cheeks rising with the memory, Humphrey the humpback whale, had also gotten lost in pretty much the same way. It was apparently a famous book too. A book that has enthralled millions over the years.

So, of course, I went looking for the book.

Humphrey the Lost Whale: A True Story by Wendy Tokuda (Author), Richard Hall (Author), Hanako Wakiyama (Illustrator)  Format: Paperback

Humphrey the Lost Whale: A True Story

Poor Humphrey was beloved and managed to capture the imagination of Californians as he lost his way spectacularly from the Pacific Ocean to the Sacramento River hundreds of miles away from the ocean.

Migratory creatures and their sense of direction

It is especially shocking to hear of whales losing their way because they are rather famed for their migratory paths. I remember watching beluga whales migrating to Alaska for the summer, and I can still see the image in my mind’s eye. Hundreds of white flashing beluga whales splicing through the waters with a splash. It is one of the most astounding sights I have ever seen.

Migratory creatures have captured our imaginations, and their powers of navigating a planet with nothing but magnetic fields and other innate knowledge sources is marvelous indeed.

Little Narwhal, Not Alone

by: Stone, Tiffany, & Ashlyn Anstee

I read another book of a narwhal getting lost and making friends with migrating whales, and found many thousands of kilometers away from its natural habitats. 

This book too is based on a real life story of a real-life narwhal who lost his way and made his home with a pod of beluga whales. Narwhals and beluga whales aren’t usually friends in the sea, but this one adapts to life with the pod, and the resulting story is heart-warming as every story of unlikely friendships is bound to be.

As California gets ready for a heat wave lasting for a week or so, I found myself thinking of the whale that lost its way and went way up the Sacramento River a few days ago. We don’t yet know whether it found its ways back to the oceans. I hope it does soon, if it hasn’t already. The river after the oceans must feel very hot & claustrophobic, not to mention that the salinity of the waters. 

Last night, as I walked home in the evening, taking in the stars in the skies above, I hoped Humphrey’s cousin would take inspiration from the stars above and find his way back.

A Whiff of Pine, A Hint of Grass

How we are influenced by the world around us is never more apparent to me than when I am trying to immerse myself in another world – one not rife with human presence. Our effects, unfortunately, is omni-present as the flash floods in Nepal proved.

Lines Written in Early Spring – By William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
…
…

And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

  • William Wordsworth

But out on a nature trail surrounded by bird-song, peering above into the skies through the leaves in the branches above, is when the world feels alive. Alive in a calm, peaceful sort of way. That particular evening, there were no frenzied crows cawing or geese squawking. The goats in the riverbed near our trail seemed sanguine, munching away leisurely at the tall grasses. A great blue heron took flight and the son & I stopped to catch its magnificence, our breath catching for a minute as it flapped its wings directly overhead.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The son was running, I was biking. I was already in high spirits.

When Carnations Give You Hope

The carnations given to me by a neighbor had revived in spite of the hot few days, and as the first bloom smiled at me, I felt hope stir. This plant had been given to me with the assurance that I cannot kill them. “Carnations are hardy. You can’t kill them if you tried!”, she said confidently, and I shushed her.

“Challenge accepted!” I said, laughing. I placed it in a place where I knew there would be plenty of direct sunlight and water. Just as she said. She came over to inspect it and nodded approvingly.

Just a few days later, the carnation died. It took on a pale brown color, and then withered away. My face matched the poor c plant. Never one to give up that easily, I persevered. I watered it with extra care – I hosed down the flower beds, the front yard and the back yard with extra whim on hot evenings but lost hope about the carnations.

Then, the evening I took out my bike for a ride, I peered into the flowerbed and saw the little flower. My heart soared. I have always loved carnations – their bright colors and how long they stay vibrant for being such petite flowers.

If only they knew the vibrations in the heart strings they caused!

A Whiff of Pine & A Hint of Grass

My mind flitted from topic to the next. Carnations to the hawks who sat on low twigs in the riverbed, and the inevitable sufferings that human-beings are faced with. The sun’s rays glistened across the waters I rode by. Calm, soothing.

I got off my bike and took stock of the year gone by. It was already September. How could the leaves be turning color already? Yet, here we are. I rode back, and inhaled the scent of the freshly mowed grass doused with water, and felt grounded once more. The pine trees dripped with water droplets from a rogue sprinkler, and I gazed lovingly at them clinging to the pine needles. A yearning for rain, but a lovely reminder of one of my favorite children’s books, A Whiff of Pine, A Hint of Skunk.

Lines Written in Early Spring – By William Wordsworth

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

Feelings, hopes, life, all bound together in a single whiff of wet pine and grass.

Dragons in the Dusk

Glad for the Gibbous Moon

It was a beautiful waxing moon – the sky was alight with happiness. The beautiful cirrus clouds had done a marvelous job painting the skies in pastel shades. The moon hung low and golden in its gibbous glory. (I know how that sounds – but I am glad – Get it? Get it?) 

Time felt precious, maybe because it is. The school year started for the son, and for me too. I am suddenly more strapped for time than I thought possible. I am up early, on my feet all day, doing my teaching and assignments, and barely get to see the teenage son, who has also managed to fill up his days with high school friends and activities.

It was a beautiful evening. The mind was perhaps not as sharp as it should be. I knew dinner was a half-done affair, but we decided to step out together. All of us meandering on our walk admiring the clouds and the setting sun and the waxing moon. Trying as the day may have been, there is something immensely soothing about the light of dusk.

Magical. 

Pareidolia

Of course, humans have a word, albeit a really obscure one, for our indulgence with finding shapes in clouds. Many beautiful walks have we spent looking for dragons, whales and sheep amidst our companions in the skies. It is a marvelous activity, and that day, the clouds looked like kites trailing their wishes behind them. How marvelous that there should be a kite in the skies as well?  

Spotting dragons in the dusk can be very satisfying. The clouds, kites, comets are all there to indulge us, aren’t they?

“I mused for a few moments on the question of which was worse, to lead a life so boring that you are easily enchanted, or a life so full of stimulus that you are easily bored.”

― Bill Bryson, Lost Continent: Travels In Small-Town America

Is there more to life? Our lives? Most lives? I don’t know. But I know that ‘this one precious life’, as Mary Oliver puts it demands our attention. What you value, and what you remember over the moments of your life, becomes you, doesn’t it?

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=time+of+youth

If you’re looking for more obscure words with some soothing music to accompany it, please check out this youtube channel. I have never seen this many fantastical words, and I certainly don’t remember them. But I feel happy knowing they are there, all the same.

Note: I am aware that we are well into the waning moon season now – but life was a trifle hectic over the past week, and I really could not find a quiet moment in which to post my thoughts of the clouds and the moon.

Pinecones & the Secrets of the Universe

I was in a class in which we were learning how to teach art. This class was particularly fascinating for me. For the class had a very hands-on make-your-art-while-learning approach to it. One session we learnt free-play, another session: elements of music. One time we all went downstairs and broke off into small groups choreographing dance routines with little themes. Birds in a storm, ritual-rhythm-like movements, a morning routine etc. Teaching through drama, poetry (this is where I learnt about black-out poetry), and one time we learnt how to extract pine nuts from a pinecone. 

The Secrets of the Universe

There are many reasons that I loved that particular activity. I have always loved pinecones. There is something about them. Like it is hiding all the layers and secrets of life itself inside that protective cone. I thought if I could ever design a home for myself, it would be like living inside a pine cone hanging off a handsome, bounteous pine tree, swaying in the breeze, holding my own in the storm, and gently lulling fellow living beings to a peaceful state as they rest under my boughs. 

Of course, human-beings are never as accomplished as all that, and instead, I spent many wonderful evenings gazing lovingly at the pine trees nearby. Watching a pine cone drop from the boughs above, trying to pry it open to see  what lies inside. 

I was reminded of Hope Jahren’s book, Lab Girl while musing about the pine cones.

In the book, Dr Jahren writes about the science and its demands on its lovers. Her writing is lyrical, and when she writes of her research and her little moments of leap, it is nothing short of poetic. For instance, she writes of the time she was studying the structural makeup of the seeds of hackberry trees, and she unmistakably finds traces of Opal in the seeds:

“It was opal and this was something I could draw a circle around and testify to as being true. While looking at the graph, I thought about how I now knew something for certain that only an hour ago had been an absolute unknown, and I slowly began to appreciate how my life had just changed.

I was the only person in an infinite exploding universe who knew that this powder was made of opal. In a wide, wide world full of unimaginable numbers of people, I was – in addition to being small and insufficient—special. I was not only a quirky bundle of genes, but I was also unique existentially because of the tiny detail that I knew about Creation,…Until I phoned someone, the concrete knowledge that opal was the mineral that fortified each seed on each hackberry tree was mine alone.”

Not that we learnt anything that was ours alone during that lesson with pinecones, but it felt just as special. Like the pinecones were divulging the little secrets of the universe to us, to hold carefully and pass on.

Pine nuts are nuts!

It was a fascinating experience to see how pine nuts were extracted from the pinecone. The pine cones do not open wherever they please. It has to be under certain temperatures and even then, it is a tricky business. Once the pine nuts can be extracted, it isn’t a simple task to extract the flesh within them which is the edible part of the whole thing. 

So we sat there polishing the nuts against sandpaper chatting amiably with each other on how much effort it takes. I could very well imagine this being a community-building, all-the-aunts-and-grandmas-singing-together kind of activity. 

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/N1OeoaHGeLM

Of course, now there are mechanical shakers and crushers to do some of the work. But still, the process remains an expensive, labor-intensive process. Pine nuts are expensive – “Pine nuts are nuts!”

By the end of extracting the flesh from within the nuts though,I had a renewed sense of appreciation for the expensive packets in stores. 

I sat there one evening gazing up at the tree and saw the squirrels in the neighborhood loosen a pine cone from the tree. It fell with a soft thud upon the grass below. A single pine cone in a suburban lawn. Holding the secrets of the universe or at least the universes of pine trees in them.

🌥️🌎🎨🌦️ Gaia, the Artist 🌥️🌎🎨🌦️

🌦️🌎🌥️ Pleasures of a Pluviophile 🌦️🌎🌥️

The clouds were beautiful on this summer day, and though I had a row of deadlines to meet, I took off cloud gazing. As I walked towards my regular haunt admiring the riverbed nearby, I felt a few plops of satisfying raindrops.

Raindrops in July – even the sparsest of sprinklings – is a blessing. I took my time, strolling and savoring every drop on my face. The pleasures of being a pluviophile in the Bay Area means that, that part of me only gets to come out and play rarely.

By evening, the clouds could scatter and be gone. The next day was forecasted to be scorching. And yet, I had no option but to turn back and take care of my work, instead of doing what the avocets and bluebirds were doing. Swooping and swaying to the mild breeze and enjoying the weather.

🌥️ 🌥️ 🌥️ Is there a task more important than cloud-gazing? 🌥️ 🌥️ 🌥️

Duty beckons. Life is earnest. I tried telling myself. But it was no use – how could there be anything more important than cloud-gazing? I wonder.

When I have a classroom, I shall have a marvelous lesson on clouds, replete with cloud-poetry, art, and a science lesson, on beautiful cloudy days. Cirrus, cumulonimbus, cumulus, stratocumulus. The poetry writes itself, the paintbrush yearns, and the moisture droplets coalesce, weigh into Earth without pressing down, and all of it is science and magic.

I went home, and finished up my tasks in a tearing hurry so I could step out for sunset again, all the while praying that the clouds would still be there in the evening. They were. You see? The summer thus far has had its share of sunsets with not a speck of a cloud. I know because I gaze longingly for clouds every time I step out at sunset.

🌥️🌎🎨🌦️ An Evening on Earth  🌥️🌎🎨🌦️

I sighed a gusty sigh as I saw the beautiful fluffy cirrus clouds on the horizon. No deadline was going to keep me from this sunset now. The birds chirped in agreement and the breeze swirled its approval of my decision. So, this time, I took my time. I savored every streak: every elegant swirl of grey, every blushing splash of pink, watched it turn into a brilliant orange, and then bloom into purple.

I watched the diamonds of the evening twinkle from in between the clouds.

I watched the planets shine, and hours later, the stars sparkle and tease. If I could send a snippet of this to fellow beings on other planets, I would. For what greater magic is there than the birds flying home, the crickets chirping their evening greeting, the California poppies slowly closing their petals as though trapping that last drop of golden light in them, and the deer stopping to gaze at a being admiring a sunset?

An Evening on Earth.

Black-out Poetry

“MGR is dead?”

“MGR is dead?”

That’s the joke in the house when I tell folks I learnt of something. The joke is on them of course. Because MGR is dead. But the cultural reference is to a Tamil movie in which a comedian says, “What?! MGR is dead?!”  years after he died. In fairness, I am unusually dense when it comes to cultural trends, and so many times entire songs or references that rocked the younger generation just pass me by. Usually, some kind child enlightens me and by then of course the joke is gone. Very tiring – especially now in the age of social media. Remember when 6-7 was a thing? Now it is not a thing, it is a cringe. Things 15 year olds get called ‘gramps’ by 10 year olds for. Sigh.

So expecting some similar response, I told folks about this latest thing we learnt called Black-out Poetry. As expected, the children had heard of it, the husband thought it was cool. Poets have been running channels and videos posting how it is done for over a decade. So, all is well. MGR is dead.

What is Black-out Poetry?

As it turns out, this is an amazing thing to do while riffling through old magazines or you just want to do something creative in a short span. Pick out random words or phrases across the page, and try to frame a poem from it.

I tried it, and even for an amateur, I loved it. The process, the words, the picture it conjured in my mind. It was all beautiful.

I chose an article in the magazine, The Outlook Traveller, which was an absolute delight to fish for words and phrases in.

The finished piece is here:

The Silence is Broken

Dawn is breaking
over 20000 ft
in the Himalayas.

The silence is broken
I 
          b
       m
      i
    l
 c
with a q    u   i  e  t  thrill
to accept the GIFTS of the forest.

The silence is broken.

Your One Marvelous Life

Now, I am sure poets will do a fantastic job with this sort of thing. I shall be looking for exemplary black-out poetry from now on. Really! The world is full of creative souls. 

So, what do you plan to do with one marvelous life ( to paraphrase Mary Oliver)? Would you try your black-out poetry and share it with me?

What are your favorite bedtime books?

Bedtime Books 

The past few nights have been hot. I would’ve used the term ‘sweltering’ but after reading about chinchillas, I am not sure. They are the ones that live in the sweltering volcanic regions. I live in a place that is hot in summer. It is hot till the air conditioner kicks in. I was over-stimulated and was looking for something soothing to calm down and go to bed.

I sighed, and picked up a book from my latest set of creature books. (I need to put up a separate post on them soon)

The Bedtime Book of Nighttime Animals: More Than 100 Creatures Who Come Out to Play When You Go to Bed

Why this strange fascination for creature books?

What is this strange fascination with children’s books on creatures, you ask. To that, I say, if you aren’t reading them, you’re missing out on life. Take for instance this set of books that I have been reading, admiring and glancing through every chance I get. Sometimes, we think being a human is all there is to life. But is it? A book like this is marvelous to imagine all the creatures out and about on Earth just as we tuck ourselves into bed. I felt a pang for the times the children and I would read these kind of books when they were toddlers. So, maybe it is just a little piece of that I cling to when reading these books. 

I know the children as toddlers would have been enthralled by the names of the creatures in this book: Tasmanian devils, roborovski monsters, spinner dolphins, pipstrelles, kakapo, natterjack toad, kuhli loach. If I were a rap singer with any sort of talent, just imagine rapping the names of the creatures who are up at night.

Imagine being a kinkajou?

Still unable to sleep, I sat with a strange urge for a midnight snack and wondered whether to get out of bed, go downstairs, and then decided against it. Now, if I were a kinkajou that would not be a problem at all, would it?

The kinkajous live on trees, and think nothing of hanging from them for a midnight snack. They love to raid beehives for honey, and being nocturnal means that the bees must be in residence when they do so. If that isn’t brave, I don’t what is.

  • Why does the kinkajou not get stung by bees? Because the bees are asleep!
  • And what of blood sugar at night? The kinkajou doesn’t care.

I flipped a few more pages, and there staring at me was the roborovski hamster. It is the smallest and fastest hamster in the world. Why the long name, Roborovski? I think it is brilliant.  “Roborovski hamster – come here this instant!” And he vanishes before you finish calling his name. See? 

As I nodded off to sleep, I couldn’t help thinking of the cute chinchillas who are so smart that when caught by predators, they simply shrug off their fur and take off into the silver night. They manage to sleep during the day in hot volcanic regions, I am sure I should be able to sleep now, I told myself and thought of all the happy creatures sleeping at night and all the ones enjoying themselves in the light of the stars.

The Unlikely Friendships of Larks & Koalas

Sunrise! Sunrise! Please don’t sing!

It was one of those swift week-end trips to the Pacific Northwest. An early morning flight to catch meant that we were out before the sun rose. Watching the sunrise is something I do not do often, but when I do, I like it to be just the way I am. A little sleepy, groggy, the rays of the sun slowly brightening the skies. Taking its time. 

I have written about this appalling tendency of some people to get up and switch themselves on like fluorescent flashlights illuminating an international football stadium. The daughter and yours truly are not like that. We like to take our time. Rise and shine in slow motion after a cup of coffee preferably. We have just switched out from another realm of our dreams to earth, and we like to adjust.

The daughter looked like a rock. Literally. She had a brown hoodie pulled over her head, and looked slightly delirious if addressed. Clearly wishing to be left alone. Her eyelids drooping behind the eyelids. Yours Truly did not have the hoodie, but I was yawning so relentlessly even after a shower and a cup of coffee, that no one but visiting fruit flies should have come near me.

The husband, on the other hand, had this beaming smile on his face, and was … get this … hold your breath … dancing to the appalling music he had on. The daughter and I moaned, but it didn’t seem to deter him. Feigning sleep only seemed to make this enthusiasm worse. “Come on!”, he said with an exaggerated dance move that made the car swerve a bit with the early morning winds of the bay.

Sunrises soothe souls

I was lost for a solution when I peeked outside and the caught the pinkening of the skies. Like soothing an overactive child, I directed his attention to the skies. He wow-ed and look-ed – but at least the dancing had stopped. The daughter’s feeble , “Good job ma!” Was all the appreciation I needed. The sunrise had given us all what we were looking for.

What was it that made some of us diurnal creatures and others nocturnal? How is it some of us are koalas and groggy after 18 hours of sleep and a dose of eucalyptus oils, while others chirp and think nothing of belting out that early morning birdsong and hopping about – what are these birds? Yes, larks.

We were like larks and koalas in the mornings, and somehow, we manage to shake down together on this earth. Talk about unlikely friendships and all that.

Are you good at this-and-that OR that-and-this?

Indians in India have this habit of rising at ungodly hours to drink coffee. Even when there is nothing much to be done for the rest of the day. Why potter about at 5:30 in the morning, rouse the household, and drink coffee if you are only to get into bed for a nap at 11 a.m?

There have been plenty of studies showing that an early riser is good and this-and-that, while late-night folks are good at that-and-this. 

This turtle that I saw in the Pacific Northwest after a good few hours of sunshine, was rising and clearly taking its time. I saw it shrinking from the energetic joggers and speed walkers, and felt a sense of kinship with it. Even though I got a baleful look at the fact that I crouched down to take its picture that early in the morning, I thought I’d share it with my readers. 

So tell me. How are you in the mornings?