Early Morning Reverie

I was up early this morning. It's something I do now.

I've learned to love the quiet of the morning,

when the dog and cats are fed and watered

and are content to leave me to my thoughts.

This morning, I sat in my little computer nook

on the second floor, reading emails

and catching up on blog posts

while watching the sky outside my window

turn red-violet, then amethyst.

It finally settled into a faint pink near the ground

that graduated through the lavender range over to blue,

growing faintly more intense as I looked up-up-up,

but still a soft, soft powdery blue of a still morning,

just after sunrise.

I should have grabbed the camera early on,

gone outside in the 30-something temperature

and taken a photo to show you

the glory of Mother Nature's paintbox.

But I didn't -- I knew that by the time

I pulled jeans on under my nightgown

so I wouldn't scandalize

my very-Republican neighbors

if they happened to glance up to my deck,

by the time I tucked my toes into some shoes

and slipped out the back door,

the early morning splendor would have faded like a memory

to a from vivid hues to a faint blue

tending toward the gray end of its range,

and a yellow to the east so faint

it might as well be white.

I waited a few extra minutes

and everything changed,

everything muted to the colors you see here.

I guess there's a little pink left.

And you can see the carpet of frost

spread out across the expanse of grass.

I waited because I didn't want to miss

  the eagle who flies between my house

and my neighbor's each morning

about this time, on his way to the pond.

He always makes a point of dipping his beak

and showing me his snow white head.

He's close enough that I can see

the yellow rings in his eyes.

I wonder what he thinks,

as he watches me watching him.

That's the magic of my morning.

I wish you magic, too.