In the Morning of the Year

It's a tradition... No matter how cold it is beyond the windows, I rise early, brew tea and mug in hand, I lean against the counter and watch the sun come up on the first day of the calendar year.

This morning's sunrise was filtered through the bare maples and their cloaks of ice, and the world beyond the windows felt warm and enfolding, although it was very cold.

A chance interplay between the ice and early sun forged coins of hammered light that hung suspended among the frozen trees, and at times, they were almost blinding. There were long gold and violet streaks flowing down the sky, and near the horizon they faded to a dusky pink that rolled across my sight like low undulating hills - from my perch by the kitchen window, I seemed to be looking up into the foothills of the Himalayas.

The whole scene was like an incredible painting, and I stood staring like a fool, wide-eyed and breathless. Georgia O'Keefe and Nicholas Roerich would have absolutely loved this sunrise. It was a gift, a gorgeous way to start the year, and I am clinging to the fragile hope that this sunrise was a harbinger of good things to come.