I love sunrises and sunsets. But what I really love is the space that I have in-between them to do something incredible.

If I missed the sunrise of this day and if I let the sunset slip by unnoticed, I might ask if what captured my attention this day was worth the loss of this day because I can’t think of anything that’s that important.

What I liked about fishing at the break of day was to be a spectator to the whole of nature gently arousing itself from sleep. And it always seemed that part of that awakening was a fresh sense that this day was not ‘another day,’ for there is no such thing when the world awakens in this manner. Rather, every day was a ‘new day.

To sit down at the end of each day and read what we wrote across the page of this day is probably going to make us think real, real hard about what we should write tomorrow.

When the sun begins rubbing the eastern horizon warm with the first pastel-thin light of a new day, I am reminded that the sun had to let the world go dark before it was sufficiently positioned to make the world become light.