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TITLE (EDIT)
Reflections On A Sunrise |
DESCRIPTION
A very old fable I stumbled across that I had written some years ago. I still reading it from time to time, I like what I was trying to do here, inspirational and all of that.
[1,037 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Fable |
AUTHOR
Gregory Novak |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
A twenty-something jack-of-all-trades that has simple been exploring the craft of writing for longer than he can remember. Whilst humour is a fickle mistress that comes and goes, he must admit that tragedy and romance consume the bulk of his creative efforts.
[January 2008] |
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
ultrafunkulah@hotmail.com |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (17)
Alexandria (Poetry) Just a quick little verse I scribbled down one day on a whim celebrating the destruction of knowledge. [24 words] [History]
Ballad Of The Opiate King (Poetry) - [151 words]
Birds (Poetry) Oh, the things we do... [159 words] [Romance]
Collected Poems (Poetry) A collection of some of the poetry I've written over the years; most of it follows the same or similar rhyming scheme and cadence (yes, most of it rhymes... sorry folks), but the material covered vari... [1,331 words]
Consciousness Stream 1 (Poetry) A relatively lengthy piece I simply spit out one day whilst feeling inexplicably intoxicated (for I was under no influence). [300 words] [Mind]
How She Stirs Not At All (Short Stories) - [319 words]
I Should Think It Like A Fist (Non-Fiction) A semi-conscious rant on language, love and whatever else I found offensive that day. [493 words] [Psychology]
I Think You'd Like Her (Short Stories) A soliloquy of sorts, we find a young man reflecting on a love now lost. [1,440 words] [Romance]
Mere Life Less Love (Non-Fiction) A short projection of private thoughts regarding love and life. [276 words]
Moments, A Lamentation (Non-Fiction) - [500 words] [Romance]
Of Art, Pt. 1 (Non-Fiction) An undulating rant on Art and its relevance to civilized life. [489 words] [Psychology]
Princes And Lesser (Poetry) An exercise in entendre. [117 words] [Literary Fiction]
Stranded At Dusk (Short Stories) I've labeled this as a short story, although my original intent was to develop this into a longer work, possibly a novella or full-length novel. [1,690 words] [Thriller]
Sunday Morning (Short Stories) Memories. Just... memories. [458 words] [Literary Fiction]
The Mad Diarist (Short Stories) The first fragments of a diary have been discovered buried beneath the dust of an old condemned building. The author's identity remains a mystery. [347 words] [Horror]
The Opiate King (Poetry) In Memorium of a Great Man. [151 words] [Mystical]
Worlds Apart (Short Stories) A series of piggybacking streams of consciousness, effectively stages of one man's reflection on the woman he's left for reasons (and duration) unknown. [1,595 words] [Relationships]
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Reflections On A Sunrise
Gregory Novak
A young boy sat on the pier, looking out at the sea as the sun slowly began to rise over the pink horizon. Sitting next to him was an old man whom he would often find already sitting at the pier in the early morning. Looking out at the distant sunrise, the boy turned to the old man and remarked, “The sunrise is very beautiful, isn’t it?”
The old man lifted up his head, glanced at the horizon for a moment, and then ducking his head back down to look at the crashing waves before him, he said somewhat distractedly, “Yes, it is quite nice . . .”
The boy, somewhat disheartened at the old man’s insincerity, returned his gaze to the ever brightening morning sky. Seeing the fiery colours spill out across the heavens, the young boy turned again towards the old man, who remained lost in the crashing surf at his feet. “It is really quite amazing,” said the boy, “As I have never seen such vibrant colours on even the most beautiful painting as I have seen on the morning sunrise.”
The old man once again raised his eyes, glanced toward the distant sky, and remarked with a drowsy monotone, “Mmm . . . the colours, I suppose are very impressive,” and just as before, he leaned his head back down to stare at the tiny whitecaps licking at his heels.
The boy, growing somewhat curious as to the old man’s apparent lack of interest in such a splendoured vision as the beautiful sunrise before them both, turned to him one last time and asked quietly, “I have noticed that although the sunrise is very beautiful, as you have said so yourself, you do not seem to have much of an appreciation for it. How could a wise old man such as yourself find such a glorious vision as this not worth experiencing?”
The old man, now stirred from his oceanic trance, allowed a soft smile to creep across his face, and with a faint twinkle in his eye he turned towards the boy, and looked into his eyes as if searching for something.
“For all of my years, I have experienced many beautiful things in this world. I remember when I was just a young lad, as you are now, and I would sit on a pier very similar to this one, and remark much the same way that you are now about the beauty and pleasure that comes from witnessing such a sunrise. As time passed, and age took its toll on my body, one day I found myself sitting upon the pier, and I looked down at myself, and realized that I was no longer a young boy, but a tired and weary old man. I realized that I had spent my entire life looking out at the gorgeous sunrises of the world, watching them light up the morning sky with their fabulous colours and fiery hues, and all the while I had been doing that, I had neglected to notice the one thing more important than the beauty of the sunrise . . .” The old man seemed to trail off, and let his gaze momentarily drift back to the rolling waves coming in from the ocean.
The boy, waiting patiently for the old man to continue his story, watched as a single tear rolled down the man’s smiling cheek.
“In watching the sunrise every morning, and staring out into the heavens being slowly painted by those vibrant colours, I found that I had spent my entire life losing myself in the beauty and splendour of it all, and failed to recognize what the ocean was trying to show me.”
Perplexed, the young boy followed the old man’s gaze down to the rolling surf, trying to find what it was that the old man had neglected to see all those years, and now apparently saw with very little effort. “I . . . I am afraid that I fail to see what you are talking about. All I see when I look at the ocean and the waves are . . . waves.”
The man broke away from his trance, and with a subtle smile once again grazing his cheeks he turned to look back at the boy, and said with a calm sincerity, “Well, that is all I seemed to see as well. I saw wave after wave spilling itself onto the shores of the beach. I saw that and did not take any notice of it. Eventually however, long after it was too late, I realized that the entire time that I had been staring into the distant horizon looking for beauty, I had ignored the ocean, and all the messages it was trying to bring me.” The old man looked back at the waves, and followed them out a few miles into the distance. “Every one of those waves come from some distant place, and they travel great distances to bring stories and news right to the feet of those of those would sit and listen. All too often people spend their lives looking out at the horizon, which although very beautiful, can really provide nothing of any great worth. People become distracted by the sunrise, and ignore the messages that the ocean tries to bring to them, and so they foolishly complain about things that are owed to them, and things that they never attain, when meanwhile all that they need be provided with is placed right into their hands, by the ocean. That, my boy, is why I may seem so disinterested in such a beautiful thing as the sunrise. I have grown tired of spending my life closing my ears to the world.”
And with that, the old man smiled once again, and lowered his head to watch the crashing surf, slowly trailing his eyes as if beckoning for the boy to do the same. The boy looked out one last time at the sunrise, which just as the old man had said was still very beautiful, somehow did not seem quite worth gazing into anymore. The young boy, silhouetting the old man, then lowered his gaze toward the ocean, watching and listening to what the world had to tell him.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2000 Gregory Novak |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
June 2007 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2348
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