7:00 am. The light is so lovely this morning, looking west. My horizon has a scalloped edge of mountains, one of the surprises and delights of our new house. We never expected to have a view of the mountains, but we do. It's not a "million dollar view", but there they are; steadfast, waiting. I love the sureness I feel that the mountains will be there each morning. At times they are shy, hiding behind smokey clouds, but not this morning. Today is going to be exquisitely clear, and so are the mountains.
Our view is not unspoiled. We live in the city, and we have a pole and transformer in our back yard. I realize now that I rarely see it. It has been, well, transformed, by the loveliness and variety of the natural view.
I began talking about light. I am so easily distracted by mountains. This early morning light has turned everything into an impressionist painting. The light softens raw materials of development into pools of color - a shopping center becomes a golden field. A blue house glows with a secret story. It is the dab of color that an artist would use. And just now, the changing leaves - well, I can't think of a single word to describe them that would do them justice. They just deserve to be called beautiful.
I'm certain that three large trees, just across the street, which have enjoyed an abundantly green summer, are hiding a secret. They have been stubborn about holding onto their leaves, but I'm beginning to see the outline of something tall, rounded, and solid. I know it's there. And when the leaves finally let go, I'll have a good view of a big piece of my horizon.
I draw the blinds from across the sliding glass door each morning, and I look. I follow Chili Dog outside as she goes to pee. She jumps up on a stool and I brush her. I look some more. She is wiggly for the cookie that is coming. I'm besotted with light and mountains. Together we begin our day in blessedness. I remind myself to look again; we have a sunset coming too.
Our view is not unspoiled. We live in the city, and we have a pole and transformer in our back yard. I realize now that I rarely see it. It has been, well, transformed, by the loveliness and variety of the natural view.
I began talking about light. I am so easily distracted by mountains. This early morning light has turned everything into an impressionist painting. The light softens raw materials of development into pools of color - a shopping center becomes a golden field. A blue house glows with a secret story. It is the dab of color that an artist would use. And just now, the changing leaves - well, I can't think of a single word to describe them that would do them justice. They just deserve to be called beautiful.
I'm certain that three large trees, just across the street, which have enjoyed an abundantly green summer, are hiding a secret. They have been stubborn about holding onto their leaves, but I'm beginning to see the outline of something tall, rounded, and solid. I know it's there. And when the leaves finally let go, I'll have a good view of a big piece of my horizon.
I draw the blinds from across the sliding glass door each morning, and I look. I follow Chili Dog outside as she goes to pee. She jumps up on a stool and I brush her. I look some more. She is wiggly for the cookie that is coming. I'm besotted with light and mountains. Together we begin our day in blessedness. I remind myself to look again; we have a sunset coming too.
