Long before dawn I’m awake. It’s still mostly dark as I reach for my iPad to read for a while, and tap out some words.
Through the open door, the eastern sky takes on a pinkish hue. Lines cut across it: whether clouds or contrails I can’t yet tell.
They might make an interesting photograph in a half-hour or so, and I consider going downstairs to set up my camera gear.
Instead I watch a hummingbird come to the feeder.
Day dawns gentle and the spectacle I expected never comes. I’m glad I stayed and watched the bird.
Some mornings arrive on the clash of an almost-violent red symphony. Others tiptoe in like a whisper.
Glory, they say, loud or soft, as the miracle of a new morning blesses us and we lift our eyes to give thanks.