|The sun rises in Saratoga.|
As morning matures, tips of trees puncture the woolly cloud blanket; constellations of crows soar across the sky, weaving between bay laurel branches. We receive the sun with squints, watch it gild the day. A new layer of light, fine as foundation (NARS Sheer Glow, to be exact. This is for you, Julianne!), settles into the concrete crevices and nettle-ridden notches of our hometown.
I remember the old hymn by Folliott Sandford Pierpoint:
For the beauty of the earth
for the beauty of the skies
for the love which from our birth
over and around us lies
For the beauty of each hour
of the day and of the night
hill and vale, and tree and flower,
sun and moon, and stars of light.
If every day began this way...