Our backyard is a wonder in the morning, as we are always privy to magnificent sunrises, be they winter or any season. But especially during the brumal months, when all is quiet and still, the pale sun begins to appear, casting its dull rays into still skies, banishing the Cimmerian world until nightfall.
Peering out our kitchen window, it remains a marvel to witness this tremulous orb as it shyly appears through barren silhouetted limbs. A lone crow stands tentatively in the yard, its darkled presence the lone sentinel to a handful of frost-covered crumbs.
A crimson film envelops the horizon, as wisps of slate blue clouds hover languidly in the crisp morning air. Nary a sound is heard, save for the distant caw of another crow, its muffled plea heard by the single crow below, its muscled head cocked to listen to its murderous accomplice.
The day brightens, and wisps of off-white clouds replace the ragged indigo floating ‘zeppelins’ of early morn’. The winter sun, now hovering near the treeline, reveals its resplendency once again, regal in its empyrean post.
‘Til tomorrow then, when once again the faint pallor of a mid-winter sun is seen, slowly wending its way across a frigid February sky.
Copyright, Paul Grignon, 2012, All Rights Reserved.