Aṣọ̀rò (Yoruba) Literal
Translation: "Something hard to say."
This beautiful word captures the idea of a
deep emotional where words fail.
This morning, Scotland’s
west coast awoke to a sky ablaze with colour—a sunrise that seemed to stretch
beyond the horizon, bathing the land in a glow that made it difficult to
believe the temperature hovered just above zero. It was one of those mornings
that calls to you, that tugs at your heart in the quiet hours, urging you to
move before the day settles into its routines. Without a word, my wife and I
leapt from bed, driven by an unspoken agreement to seize this moment. Bundled
up against the chill, we made our way to the beach, where the waves lapped
lazily against the shore, as if even the sea had been lulled into a peaceful
reverence by the beauty of the morning.
There’s something about a
sunrise that stirs a person deeply. It holds a strange melancholy, an aching
beauty that we can’t quite explain. I’ve often wondered what it is that moves
us so profoundly when we witness the break of dawn. Maybe it’s the quiet majesty
of it all, the colours that seem to paint a masterpiece just for us, for this
fleeting moment. Perhaps it’s the sense of time slipping away, the recognition
that a day is starting, and with it, the realization that every sunrise marks
both a beginning and an end. The end of night, of darkness, of rest. The
beginning of possibility, of work, of life unfolding.
As we walked, the sand
crunched beneath our feet, still stiff with frost. The air was crisp and clear,
and in the distance, we heard the calls of migrating Canada geese, their
V-shaped formations cutting across the pale sky. They had come from the Western
Isles, seeking refuge in the milder southern borders for the winter. The sight
of these creatures, so driven by instinct and survival, added to the poignancy
of the morning. There is a wildness to nature that always feels just out of
reach, something that fills me with both wonder and a deep sadness. Perhaps
it’s the reminder that everything is in motion, constantly changing,
migrating—just like those geese.
Jeremiah :8:7
"Even the stork in the sky knows her appointed seasons.
The turtledove, the swift, and the thrush keep their time of migration..."
Good Morning Nigeria, I Like Your Word Aṣọ̀rò
First light breaks the sky,
Eternal dawn in our hearts,
Time pauses in gold.
Image courtesy of https://unsplash.com/@ikasalovic
Aṣọ̀rò (Yoruba)
Aṣọ̀rò (Yoruba) Literal Translation: "Something hard to say."
This beautiful word captures the idea of a deep emotional where words fail.
This morning, Scotland’s west coast awoke to a sky ablaze with colour—a sunrise that seemed to stretch beyond the horizon, bathing the land in a glow that made it difficult to believe the temperature hovered just above zero. It was one of those mornings that calls to you, that tugs at your heart in the quiet hours, urging you to move before the day settles into its routines. Without a word, my wife and I leapt from bed, driven by an unspoken agreement to seize this moment. Bundled up against the chill, we made our way to the beach, where the waves lapped lazily against the shore, as if even the sea had been lulled into a peaceful reverence by the beauty of the morning.
There’s something about a sunrise that stirs a person deeply. It holds a strange melancholy, an aching beauty that we can’t quite explain. I’ve often wondered what it is that moves us so profoundly when we witness the break of dawn. Maybe it’s the quiet majesty of it all, the colours that seem to paint a masterpiece just for us, for this fleeting moment. Perhaps it’s the sense of time slipping away, the recognition that a day is starting, and with it, the realization that every sunrise marks both a beginning and an end. The end of night, of darkness, of rest. The beginning of possibility, of work, of life unfolding.
As we walked, the sand crunched beneath our feet, still stiff with frost. The air was crisp and clear, and in the distance, we heard the calls of migrating Canada geese, their V-shaped formations cutting across the pale sky. They had come from the Western Isles, seeking refuge in the milder southern borders for the winter. The sight of these creatures, so driven by instinct and survival, added to the poignancy of the morning. There is a wildness to nature that always feels just out of reach, something that fills me with both wonder and a deep sadness. Perhaps it’s the reminder that everything is in motion, constantly changing, migrating—just like those geese.
Jeremiah :8:7
"Even the stork in the sky knows her appointed seasons.
The turtledove, the swift, and the thrush keep their time of migration..."