I’ve reached the far side street level of this suburban mountain and turn to hurry back up, to see the sun rise. The peachy colors have drained from the plumes of cloud, releasing them to float across the blue sky, stretchy bits of white lingerie on the line. On the horizon directly behind the triangular bulk of the San Tan Mountains glows a terrific energy. A thin line of fire defines the ridgelines and a bleed of dusky red flares along the horizon to the north and the south of the mountain. From behind it a fiery halo of light explodes in every direction. Where I stand that single mountain holds back the energy of our entire world, it fairly pulses with the effort. Finally, in glorious silence the blinding edge of the sun sears through a notch at the top of the mountain and a heart beat later the disk of the sun itself pushes impatiently over the ridge. I have to look away but now the sunrise can be witnessed on every south facing rock surface, glittering shrub and tree, and every hillside flushed crimson. As I turn toward home I know I’ve been blessed.