sun salutation

My morning yoga practice is pretty special this week.

Every day, at 7:05, just after Max has left to catch the bus to high school, I do about 12-15 minutes of yoga. It helps me wake up, warm up, feel more flexible, powerful and alert.

The living room, where I roll out my mat, is graced with both eastern and western exposures. Usually, I face out the picture window to the west, because it's comfortable and convenient, given the present arrangement of furniture. (Also, there is a great maple just in front of me that helps me with my tree and eagle poses) But this week, I'd be missing a great deal by not reorienting my practice to face eastward, gazing out windows that stretch from the floor to a height of about six feet.

As I strike my first mountain pose, the sky is a deep midnight blue, criss-crossed by the powerful sculpture of black tree branches.

But by the final sun salutation, my view is transformed to great bands of deep heathery purple, crimson, orange, yellow and pale blue.

I live fully in the 21st century and know I have nothing to do with the sun rising.
But with every sweeping arm movement this morning, it feels like I am coaxing him out from his resting place beneath Mother Earth, asking him to paint, then light, the Great Sky.