Ah sweet Saturday! I awaken early and potter out to the kitchen to concoct a pot of coffee, then lean against the old wooden cabinet by the window with an Irish mug of splendid dark roast (fair trade) and look out. It is cold here this morning, and the smoke of neighborhood chimneys is rising straight up into the air, lighted from behind by the rising sun which comes and goes among the clouds. Overnight, the village has been all wrapped up in hoarfrost, and the bare trees behind the little blue house are elegant creatures with rampant hope in every branch and twig. The icicles suspended from the rafters of the garden house (shed) glisten, and so does the snow on the roof. The early sunlight turns the snowy Alpine drifts in the garden into mountains of purest crystal.
One needs sunglasses to see anything at all this morning, but my old Bausch and Lomb sunglasses are close at hand, and on they go, my other hand reaching for the camera, which is also close by (surprise, surprise). A magical morning, and I was here to see it unfold.
2 comments:
One reaches out in February - for each and every ray of light, every bird song, each sequin and scrap of color, every single small indication that springtime truly exists and is on its way. The other name for this month and its fabulous moon should be "hope".
I am so glad you were here to see it as well.
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