The Colors of Morning Light


I took this picture while in the pasture this morning

I woke as the light was returning.  I lay on my side looking at the small window but could see little.  It was wet with melting frost, as white as the flaking paint on the window sash.

My mind wandered for a bit, thinking of the day and what needed to be done, when suddenly the  window sash glowed pink pulling me back into the moment.   I turned my head to the larger window at the foot of the bed.

Each of the six panes of old wavy glass was hot pink.

I knew it wouldn’t last, it never does.

I watched as the pink softened to the color that Joseph’s Baby Aspirin tasted like.  (I never could reconcile the color of the aspirin with the flavor, but I loved it like candy).

Now all the red drained and I was looking at rippled sand under flowing water, more texture than color.

When that dissolved to faded denim, I knew it was time to get up.

4 thoughts on “The Colors of Morning Light

  1. I love your ‘In the moment’ descriptions. You have a way of pulling us into events with your keen eye and ability to relay events as they happen in a simple observational manner. And I love experiencing Bedlam farm, your art and nature through your artists eyes.

    1. I appreciate that Lois. It is interesting, I’ve always had these thoughts, but until I started my blog had no place to put them. Now the more I do, the more I observe. I can’t imagine not writing these thoughts and observations down any more. I feel like I might implode if I had no place to “put” them where other people could see them too.

  2. What a fantastic color-cycle description of the sunrise I enjoyed this morning also! But instead of a squadron of geese, I had a flock of “regulars” at my breakfast buffet: the blue jays always put out the call (loudly!) whether the cement windowsill is, or is not (even louder, indignant), laden with seed (it was!) and then come the starlings, sparrows, pigeons, cardinals, and my favorite – the red-breasted woodpecker. I’ve lived here for three decades, offering sustenance from the late autumn to early spring to try to encompass and be a way-stop on the migratory species’ treks, and in the spring/summer the resident-species parents always show their offspring the way here, with their barely fluttering fluffy underwings, cheeping and fussing like toddlers in a high-chair, so that I feel as if I have many, many, many great-great grand-birds!

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