The Hand-Off Between Moon and Sun

I’m at the airport getting an early flight out of Dodge. In the dark, the terminal is still waking up, operating at a low shuffle. It feels like everyone needs a mug of strong coffee to function. The terminal has its own quiet soundtrack—the distant squeak of rolling luggage, the hum of a floor buffer, and the muffled conversations of workers.

Outside, it’s pitch black. Looking through the glass, I mostly just see my own reflection in the pane—the dark bags under my eyes, the wrinkle lines in my forehead, looking like I should still be asleep in my warm bed.

Playing Peekaboo with the Stars!

Despite the dark, I know the sun is on its way. I imagine it skipping along this way and that, singing “I’m late! I’m late! For a very important date!” like the White Rabbit from Disney’s Alice in Wonderland. I can’t help but wonder what kind of entrance it will make today.

Will it burst onto the scene like a fiery rocket—Houston, we have liftoff—or will it be subtle, like a shoot breaking through the soil a millimeter at a time? A gardener encouraging the young plant to rise above its stature: “Grow, plant! Gosh darn it, grow!”

Enter the Sun

In my half-awake state, I picture the Moon in a top hat and black-and-white tuxedo, smiling and taking a grand bow: “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my friend, the Sun. Now it’s time for me to bid you adieu.”

Adieu, adieu, adieu.

That is to come, but for now, we’re still shuffling in the dark. Yet, I swear the black is a shade lighter. In the minute I stopped to look away, it somehow lightened a shade. We’re talking fine needle in a haystack details here. Am I sure? Would I bet money on it? Hell no, but it’s still promising.

Figures move through the shadows outside—ramp workers shuttling luggage carts, running from one task to the next as the airfield preps for the next round of departures and arrivals and the dawn of a new day. Everything continues on, rain or shine, night or day.

Unspoken Agreements

Other passengers shuffle past me to grab seats near their gate. We share sleepy nods and vacant looks, but that is it. We have an unspoken agreement that it’s too early for small talk. They can talk to their own party, but there’s no talking between other passengers. No one dares break the agreement. Everyone knows that SWAT members will rush onto the scene with weapons and chains to carry offending parties away.

Still, I wonder grand questions of time and light. When does late night become early morning? When does the night hand over the keys to the coming day? There are no answers, just more questions.

Yes, Mr. Sun, I’m ready for your arrival. We are right on the cusp of a new day, and I’m excited to see what you bring.

So, Which Is It?

Are you an early-bird, or do you prefer taking the night shift? Let me know in the comments below!