Catching sunrise was part of my childhood education. My father was cognizant with the proverb, “Early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise,” and he used it as a family mantra. Waking while the sky scintillated shades of saffron was imbued with every virtue imaginable. Naturally I resisted, certain that late night revels were better than dawn perambulations. I became a twilight worshipper, instead; enthralled with the descending incandescence, the kindling of scattered celestial bodies, the realization I was a speck of cosmic dust connected to an infinite universe of unknowable properties. At university I forsook the brusque chill of daybreak for the pleasures of nocturnal pursuits: midnight parties, two am snack runs, insomniac chats. Sometimes these sessions led to witnessing a new sun peeping over the horizon, but as a matter of accident not intent.
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