I love the five o’clock morning time. Color only within touch, the horizon a ragged line of black leaves waving gently in a higher wind against a milky blue empty sky. A bowl of morning curves away from me in the backyard. A crane heads from the river to the fish hatchery, a black silhouette that looks very much like a pterodactyl I imagine, slow waves of giant wings, crooked neck and dragging feet like jetstreams in the air. And noisy, oh so noisy with the chirping cheeping squawking whistling tweeting of the birds unseen as yet.
This operetta goes on every day and yet is still a wonder.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
There is really something totally awesome and wonderful about this place although I’ve only been there a handful of times. You’d think with that kind of beauty, one would make an effort to go more often. Instead we drive thousands of miles to see some darn thing that ain’t even half as nice. Go figure. 😉
“A bowl of morning…”
What a terrific way of putting it. Love that!