We have a glasshouse at our farm. It’s a single room with large glass windows on 3 walls, a glass door and a glass ceiling. It looks just like the symbol of a house one would make with one’s palms – joined at the finger tips, shaped like a hut. There is a beautiful tree with orange flowers that is growing wide outside one window. The second window overlooks the main house and the third and largest window has a fantastic view of the entire landscape – rolling mountains and paddy fields underneath and lots of sky above it.
The sun rises from behind the tree with the orange flowers. The moon emerges from just beyond this window. We sleep on a raised stone bed facing the moon. As I lie there looking up at the moon on this almost-full-moon Chirstmas eve night, I feel amazed. The moon is bright – so bright that one cannot see any stars. There are other nights when the moon is waning and the stars are shining, showing off their numerous constellations. I do admit that my favorite times for sleeping in the glasshouse are full-moon nights. When I wake in the night at different times, I search for the moon and try to guess at the hour by it’s new location. It’s like a floodlight. We have no curtains in the glasshouse and we love being flooded by moonlight.
Usually, when the moon is behind us, it is time to wake up – around 6am in winter. The air is crisp, it is still greyish dark outside but the sounds of the morning have begun. The birds are chirping, the rooster is calling and the ducks and geese are singing a happy song all over the farm. Our dogs are patiently waiting outside the glasshouse, waiting to be let in to announce the beautiful day.
The sun is probably the last one to wake. He lazily rises from behind the same place as the moon did last night, first in a bring orange suit which slowly and magically transforms to a yellow. He doesn’t mind being looked at when he is orange, but resists strongly when he is yellow. I love his pace. I love the slow laziness with which he shows himself and the quiet arrogance with which he gives everyone the liberty to settle into the morning first.
I love to have my morning coffee at our gazebo at the bottom of our small hill. From there, I can look up at the glasshouse as I sit with my back to the rising sun. My laptop is out, next to my french press, and my thoughts and I are left alone to wander and reflect.
Meanwhile, the geese and ducks are pecking away merrily at the dried grass, my horse and donkey have found me while grazing and come by to nuzzle lovingly and my dogs have settled all around me.
I only stop when I begin to feel the heat of the sun’s rays on the back of my neck. Then I know it’s time to end my morning ritual and begin my day in earnest.
If I could wake up in the glasshouse everyday, I would.