I love to watch a purple sunrise bump the horizon like a European trying to parallel park.

When I was younger, I thought that the sunrise was a myth—part sleep-deprived hallucination, part punishment for procrastination, part victory cheer for a night that had outlived its usefulness.

Now it is almost all I notice.

I love to watch a hot yellow sunrise shoot straight up and never look down.

When I was younger, I thought that the sunrise was a mistake—a mistimed wake-up call that I never ordered.

Now it is my favorite item on the menu.

I love to watch a powder orange sunrise mix with the sky like Tang, the choice of astronauts everywhere.

When I was younger, I thought that the sunrise was a malady—a sickness that kept me frozen in bed until it ran its course.

Now it makes me unstoppable.

A sunrise is our reminder: each time we swirl around the sun, we can get a little wiser.