Lately I am noticing the subtleties of a summer sunrise. I mean not even I can rise early enough in June and July to walk before the sun is fully risen, no matter what advantage that would give me in terms of temperature and crowded sidewalks.  In the heat of the past month here in DC, the word subtleties would not have seemed to apply to the way I experienced the sun on my morning race to get my exercise in while being outside was still mildly possible.

But as August moves into September, more and more days, my feet step out onto the pavement with light, yes, but with that golden globe still resting below the horizon. It is on these mornings that I feel that slight hint of fall that tells me the sun’s angle is slowly changing. I sense a few moments of cooling breeze before the heat and humidity enrobe me with the arrival of those brightest of sun beams.  And it is on these kinds if mornings that I can take a moment and pause by this lovely fountain behind the House office building this fountain that has not worked at all for at least two years and still struggles to decide what it wants to be, raging torrent or trickle, or where it wants its water to flow, to one side or the other of its giant round bowl.

The struggle to know who we are, whether we are meant to rage or trickle at any given moment, where the water of life will flow in our own days, well, that is the stuff of living. But it is not easy. It often is not pleasant, either, as many of our days switch between blazing, blinding light, and cool, comforting breezes.

In the peace of an early Sunday morning, sitting on a park bench, feeling the last breeze of early morning, it is easy to forget the task at hand. I’m grateful that this fountain in an empty park at the heart of the city was able to remind me to get back to my own task of following the water of life wherever it flows in the days ahead.