A hodge-podge of morning reflections:
I usually find mornings to be pleasant because Katya is generally cheerful and keeps herself occupied while I go about my morning routine. She stays near me and chirps melodically when she is feeling conversational about what she's doing. In the afternoon she tends to be much more needy.
The morning light. There's a certain clarity to it that isn't present at other times of the day.
I spent most of my growing up years in Portland, Ore. where the light, morning and otherwise, was full of subtle changes. When I moved to Wenatchee, it was completely different. My bedroom had sliding glass doors that faced East. On clear mornings when the sun rose over the hills, the light went from pre-dawn darkness to BAM! Full blast sunshine. The morning light has different qualities depending on your location.
Part of a poem by Emily Dickenson I memorized in the eighth grade--
I'll tell you how the sun rose,
A ribbon at a time.
The steeples swam in amethyst,
The news like squirrels ran.
The hills untied their bonnets,
The bobolinks begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
"That must have been the sun!"
And here's a poem that I wrote years ago about one beautiful morning I saw:
Cold winter morning, before the sunrise
We were standing on a hilltop,
Looking toward the skies.
The fog was all about us
So very thick and filmy,
The silent trees but shadows
of vague mysterious.
But as we watched and waited,
The horizon strain to see,
Behold, the land grew lighter,
As if twas wreathed in smiles.
Behind us fog was silvren,
Before us wonder more--
The sun had turned our grey, grey fog
Into a mist of pink!
Ah, beauty there was now to see:
Trees had turned to sparkling dew
And the fog twas left
Blanketing the sun,
Had turned to lightest, delicate of rose.
There have been a few occasions when I've been up early enough and have had the leisure to observe a complete sunrise. I love to see the morning star against the lightening horizon. Here is a stanza from one of my favorite Christmas songs:
Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,
Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid;
Star of the East, the horizon adorning,
Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.
I abhore getting up early, but I must admit that the morning has a certain magic and promise to it.