The moment between dark and dawn is
magical.
The morning dew coats the grass and
leaves. It softly drips through the thin wisps of fog that skirt the trees and
stroke the tops of the brush. A transparent moon hangs above the western hills.
The hush of the early morning is haunted by the last echoes of the
whippoorwills. The blaze of rust as the fox fades into the tree line and home. The
triumphant cry of the owl and shriek of its prey cuts through the moment
between dark and dawn.
The breeze pushes back the dark grays
and purples of the dark leaving mauves, a blush of rose and turquoise in their wake. To the east
a crimson glow highlights the silhouette of oaks waiting to greet the sun. The scent
of flowers merges with the rich smell of fertile earth and trees.
All around is the murmur and rustling
wings of birds as they stretch and shake off the shadows of the night. Mourning Doves are cooing among the branches
and flash of red and bright chirps of cardinals weaving through the leaves
toward the feeders. The sudden flutter of wings as a flock of doves land under
the bird feeders to break their morning fast. Flickers of yellow and green
announce the arrival of the finches.
Layer by layer the morning symphony
builds. The buzz of the bees harvesting nectar. The aerial display of the crows
against the rose and gold sky crying out a counterpoint rhythm to the chorus of
birds as they sing up the sun.
The sun opens its arms on the horizon
banishing the shadows and bathes all in the golden glow of morning.
There is just something magical in
that moment between dark and light. And it fills me with peace and quiet joy.
