There’s that beautiful pink morning sky again. It washes away the melancholy I wake with these days. I don’t understand much of anything, but I know that an ordinary extraordinary thing like that can work some things together that I need to have worked together.
I sit transfixed for a time, then the brilliance starts to fade. My eyes lift again and again to the east, watching as the sky returns to pale pre-dawn blue.
It does something to me every time, this thing that I enjoy in solitude and silence in the early morning. It brings to mind something that Augustine called the “sweetness”. Something I’m writing about. Something I miss. The presence of that absence so bittersweet, the morning magic a lingering gift that reminds me it was real.