Morning twilight. Monochrome.
I see the old Moon, waning, a crescent of white silk.
Venus and Spica share a moment nearby
As the Sun edges the horizon.
In my bag, I feel the breeze gently stir past the open zipper at my shoulder.
Sunrise creeps in.
Clouds mottled and streaked.
Red. Orange. A pillar.
Iron incandescence. Vibrant.
Earth awakens with whispers.
Trees reach and touch with each finger of wind plucking the branches.
Songbirds start. Dogs caution.
First beams break the horizon.
Sixteen geese wing past with down swaddled in the early light.
I rise to give my wife words to see this beauty.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 12:04 PM UTC
Morning twilight. Monochrome.
I see the old Moon, waning, a crescent of white silk.
Venus and Spica share a moment nearby
As the Sun edges the horizon.
In my bag, I feel the breeze gently stir past the open zipper at my shoulder.
Sunrise creeps in.
Clouds mottled and streaked.
Red. Orange. A pillar.
Iron incandescence. Vibrant.
Earth awakens with whispers.
Trees reach and touch with each finger of wind plucking the branches.
Songbirds start. Dogs caution.
First beams break the horizon.
Sixteen geese wing past with down swaddled in the early light.
I rise to give my wife words to see this beauty.