I have sat in my sunroom this morning, watching the wind blow the trees to one side. The darkness of night was still wrapped around the landscape. Though it is not the coldest of mornings, the wind makes me glad to be indoors and only watching. Smoke and steam curl up from the homes below. I sit and wonder if anyone is up other than me. All is quiet here and no lights are on in the homes I can see.
Silently, like a surprise party, morning has tiptoed in and shown itself in slow glory. In the east, on the horizon it started; hints of gold and orange, reds that remind me of the fireball just over the hills yonder. In obedience the clouds and sky turn a majestic shade of purple to compliment the brushstrokes morning slowly takes.
I do not know how long I have sat, hypnotized, taken by the beauty unfolding down the hills, just past the hollers and eastward. It is like waiting for eternity to begin, and then, suddenly, it is there.
The sun has yet to appear. The colors sent out are like pages, heralds coming from the east to trumpet the glory of the King of Heaven.
There, can you see, above the horizon, the sun has slipped behind the clouds and is high in the sky already, leaving the lesser reminders, the lovely reds and oranges on the tops of the trees as it flung itself high and above the horizon. Tricky sun, bright glowing thing, you startled me as you appeared.
Now it is gone again, the wind pushes the clouds over the sun for a while. It is waiting in the wings to make another appearance.
