It’s already early morning when I step out. Obviously, 5:30am is morning. But at some times of the year I step out and 5:30 is darkness and stars; it’s night in feel. This morning as I step out, the sky is the starless deep blue of predawn.
And then, a few miles down the road, the sky has color. Not vivid neon today, as it often is. Not like the day the deep violet of clouds were so low it was like a mountain looming overhead. Not like the morning the sky seemed to be a painting in the sky, with one mar in the corner as if God had scraped something on the corner of the canvas and decided not to touch it up just to see if we’d notice.
No, today the morning is wisps of soft watercolor pastels, then a soft glow over treetops of the sun’s rise. It is gentle and lovely and…
Then it is gray mist and overcast, like I have driven right into another less-perfect day, into a cloud I did not see on approach.
Thunderstorms are forecast, I recall… They may yet come.
May your morning be good, lovely, and full of new mercies.