I wake in the middle of the night with melancholy; I rest in silent prayer for things too deep to write. Then morning, and a red and beautiful eastern sky, and I sit in my bed for a while watching it change and grow brighter as Gerry and Maya slumber.
I decide to try to capture the wonder so I run downstairs for my camera and take my barefoot self out into the back yard. I wish, as soon as I lift the camera and look through the viewfinder, that I had switched lenses but I make the best of what I have because time is fleeting with the pre-dawn show.
I stand in awe in the yard, my eyes and camera raised to the brilliance in the east, as everything is washed in a golden hue. The skies declare the glory, I add my whispered praise.
I could linger longer, and perhaps I should have, but I tiptoe across the cold spiky grass back toward the house. I go upstairs and take a shot from the upper deck, again lamenting my lens choice. I grab my phone and snap another.
And now, as I write this, there’s no evidence of the majesty of the morning sky. It’s light now, but to look out my east-facing window is to see the pale blue of a sky where the sun has not yet risen. The coffee pot is burbling its distinctive morning ballad and I’m sitting here tapping out words like nothing out of the ordinary happened.
But it has, and it will again, and wrapped up in the midst of it is an answer to my middle-of-the-night prayer.
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This image is the one I took with my phone. It doesn’t nearly do justice, but it’s enough.