The cacophony of silence embraces me. What speaks louder and with as many voices as the early morning? The sun wakes and yawns a subtle glare from the mountains in the distance. Vivid pinks and oranges push against the edge of darkness and flood the valley below. The mist, a mysterious creature of the night, proves as ephemeral as the legends in its wake. The pungent odor of trees and earth rides the cool breeze that envelopes me raising the tiny hairs on my arms. A relaxing shudder rolls down my spine as I take in the morning and the glory of it all.
The tall, slender aspens come alive in the light, one side brighter than the other as if they are huddled around an inviting campfire. A slight breeze ruffles their limbs, a visceral chatter among the trees. They call out to me, remind me of their beauty. They have stood the test of darkness and are reborn in the tender golden light, a microcosm of the circle of life. The birds, sensing the endless possibilities of a new day, fritter from tree to tree, chirping and singing the praises of the morning. A hummingbird, awash in endless motion, hovers from flower to flower. A stray call pierces the silence, and then, like an embarrassed interloper, falls quiet again. The cacophony returns in all its wonderful solitude.
The blades of grass, spread far and wide across the yard, bow to the morning sun, each pregnant with voluptuous drops of dew. The droplets yearn for the sun, angle toward it, hoping to rise only to fall again. That cycle, so pervasive, yet elegant, rules all. The morning light will give way to the harsh midday summer sun, the cool air will be replaced by the coarse heat of the day, and the vibrant colors and energy will fade and fall listless in the grind of the day. Then, the night will come, a simple repose from the vagaries of the unyielding summer heat, but the morning, the wonderful, peaceful morning, will soon return in all her beauty. It’s a promise each day makes.