I wake. I walk. I wander into the almost day. It’s almost there in that blue, that blue I only see at sunrise, that clear blue, that cerulean comfort color that goes out past the ocean to forever. It’s the feeling of being inside a whole note. It’s the experience of knowing water. It’s breathing without thinking, air intake automatically, a childhood of rhapsody.
I slide my feet along the bit of beach as I run my hand along the wall of the castle. I think how lovely that color is, and how people have never captured it. It’s too clear for any product, to filled with light for any art form. Music might describe it, but most folks wouldn’t know to listen. Most folks haven’t stopped to see. I wish myself surrounded by it, but that's not a human passtime.
Some colors God keeps just for himself. I ask him to send it to you in your dreams.
I wonder at the clarity of the backlit color that starts the day. Would it be nearly so wonderful without the orange-lit clouds nearby? They stand in waiting as it holds court for the morning sunrise.
I slide myself down onto the sand to watch the wonder. I listen to the rhythm of the waves. The world has so much comfort.
The marvelous blue fades to let the glory of the sun take over.
I walk. I wander back inside the castle. I find my way to my first cup of coffee.
I look out at a beautiful day.
I think how glory is such a small thing in the almost morning.
-me strauss Letting me be
2 comments:
I'm standing at my window facing east while I read your post and listen to the music of that deep, deep blue and fascinated by the silhoette of the big tree across the alley set-off by the hint of orange at the horizon.
When I put it all together, it's prayer.
Thanks, Liz.
Hi Dawn,
Something about the early morning is creation all over again. Nothing and no one can convince mw that anything other than that is true. Prayerful is such an appropriate word.
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