At summer camp the year I was twelve,
They had a sunrise hike.
I had never seen a sunrise.
We climbed up a small hill and sat on boulders.
After a time, a thin line of sun appeared.
I stared, fascinated, as the line grew,
So much more quickly than I would have guessed,
So that the sun appeared to leap up, far faster
Than the slow rise of bread.
The passage of time shouldn’t surprise me still,
But it does.
Every time.
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