'....But, but -
excuse me now, please; it's morning heavenly bright,
and irrepressible heart begs me to hurry on
into the next exquisite moment.'
-'Trying to Be Thoughtful in the First Brights of Dawn' - Mary Oliver -
It's lovely how the dawn sky is flushed or washed with a pale lemon in a line just above and behind the trees on the golf-links. As though a water-colour artist were beginning a painting, laying down the first washes, gliding the pale pigment across the paper.
My pen halts sitting across my thumb - listening, waiting for the next movement, to place the letters flowing from brain to paper. There... as I look up I catch the gold of a tree. There is one point in the dawning where the sunbeams catch-up one tree alone, clustered about by many yet only this one tree's top most leaves and branches are lit-up with the golden light of the rising morning sun. I can see it through my window in the mass of branches and leaves of the other trees gathered around it. It is like the subject of 'This is Your Life' and the others about clustered friends and relatives called to pay homage.
I have a small spray of creamy white freesia on the window-sill and behind there is a shallow line of condensation along the bottom of the window itself, the sun illuminates it so that gleams like sunshine on snow reminding me of a heap of tiny diamonds tipped from a bag.