One thing I learned about myself during treatment was how much I love the sunrise. Without a doubt, I still do. I love the energy and promise each sunrise brings. Sunrise was also an end to the nights that brought physical discomfort, wandering thoughts, and sleeplessness. I would, and still do, toss and turn trying to find that one, albeit temporary, comfortable spot, switching from the bed, to the couch, to the recliner, and back again. It was too much idle time that brought idle thoughts about life and mortality and everything in between. My mind would travel in circles just as my body physically circled my home, both desiring peaceful slumber. Now that I am in the post-treatment-still-in-reconstruction-no-evidence-of-disease stage, I have found a new love . . . dusk.

I love that time of day when the sun is just setting, leaving behind the purplish haze at the horizon, that seam where the heavens and the earth magically meet. High above, the sparkle of the first star can be seen just beginning the night of twinkling that lies ahead. Unlike the energy of the sunrise, or the emotional darkness of night, dusk brings a peacefulness, calmness. It signals the end of the day's bustling and a transition into rest.

It acts as my conscience, forcing me to stop and question myself about the day and my contributions to the world. It is that moment of daily reality that says today was a day well spent. There is always something good from the day I can cherish and carry into the night to chase away the thoughts waiting to emerge in sleepless moments.

Thoreau had it right when he said, "Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each." Each part of the day also brings its influences and in itself is an experience. While I still find myself reveling in the glory of dawn's early light, I also find myself drawn to the beauty of dusk and the grace it so majestically bestows.