Streaks of light, yellows and blues today, reds and fuchsias tomorrow, bold or delicate, each day the brushstrokes alter. The sun always rising, breaking over the horizon, the proverbial ball radiating out to the world giving life, giving energy. Some days, even when its radiance will soon be obscured by clouds, it clears the horizon free and glorious.
The room is cold despite the warmth of the colors reflecting from the walls. If the clouds don’t form Fall’s morning chill will be overtaken by the warmth from the light coming through the windows. Ah, to sit in the bay window chair napping like the wisest cat, embracing the light, the heat, the reprieve.
I rise early on such mornings filled with light not wanting to miss nature painting the sky and the water with color arrays. Leave for another morning, the dawning of black and white and gray, burrowing further under the covers, postponing chill.
Today I rise to watch this mystery. Will the colors remain or will they drain, giving way to clouds, to another day absent of the colors that bring such joy?