Priestly hue of dawn,
The thermometer said, 0.2C.
It was a still, cold, dark, morning, pre-dawn, as I pulled on my walking boots, tucked my scarf around my neck and set out for my morning walk in the muted darkness.
A tiny sliver of a crescent moon hung in the early morning sky, a new moon was but a day away.
I like to walk in the pre-dawn. The crispness, the unbroken day, the offering of so much to look forward to as the sun shakes itself loose from the horizon.
I don’t normally carry a camera in the morning, truth is I’d just rather enjoy the moments as they come. There is a blackbird at the moment who sits on a tv antenna and sings. I wish I could understand his song, but no doubt he has lots to tell his neighbours.
Two magpies yoddle at me from their perch above a street light. Soon they’ll be hunting on the wet grass below.
Deng says, that even on the road to hell, flowers make you smile. 🙂 You cannot, he says, force them to submit to your will.
I feel the same about light.
I reach the turn-around point of my walk. At the moment, it happens that sunrise is about that same time, so I walk out in the part darkness, and return as the light begins to play its magic over the shapes, form, tones, colour and patterns of the landscape.
It was so cold, that not only was there a frost, but a wonderful emphemeral mist rising from the river.
And so I stopped. Took out the ubiquitous phone, and wrestled with a composition over the chain wire fence at the river weir. Its been many months since water ran over the top, but the rains of the past couple of weeks have given the river a new lease of life, and as the water cascaded over the edge small clouds of mist added their own character to the moment.
As Deng says,
We should take the time to appreciate beauty in the midst of temporatily.
Until next time.