I’m ambivalent. I’m enjoying the shorter days, especially the later sun rises so I can enjoy that early morning light without getting up in the middle of the night (I exaggerate). I know  we are on the downward slop towards the very short days of winter here in the northern hemisphere, and I relish and want to enjoy the moderation of late summer and fall to its fullest.

This morning I rose at 7:00, filled my coffee cup, and went out to sit on my purple porch swing to watch the sun come up through the sparse hedgerow trees behind our neighbor’s house. I love watching how the new morning light graces different parts of my flower garden as it is filtered through the leaves – like stage lights shifting from scene to scene during a building story line. First the sun softly illuminates the Black Eyed Susans at the back of the lower level, then the coreopsis at the front of the upper level, a low-growing evergreen, continually shifting, shifting while leaving others in shadow. I sat in the cool morning air, swinging gently, for probably a half hour watching the sunlight shift its focus, watching my garden unfold.

I told Julie I would pick her up at 6:30 last Monday so we could find a magic place that would catch the early morning light through the mist rising from the warm earth. That was my dream. I was a few minutes late because I had to stop at my favorite drive through the marsh on Teft Road because of the mist hanging low. Julie already knew why was late.

I headed towards the dirt roads we favor but the sun was rising just as we reached that same marsh. I have very seldom been enamored with sun rise or sun set images once I get home and import the photos into my computer. My images never catch what my mind and heart are experiencing as I watch the sun’s signaling of another day’s ending or a new day’s beginning. It is only when I look behind and around me that I experience the excitement of morning and evening light.

In the glow of first morning light, all that is ordinary becomes extraordinary. In this early morning light, I feel a freshness and an awaking energy in all the sunlight touches. In this gentle, fleeting light, flowers take center stage.

Once upon a time, I strove to follow my dreams of making a difference in our world. Now, in my aging years, I am drawn to the gentle, clear illumination of the early morning light. I also look forward to my time in reflection each day as the sun sets and light fades to a soul-warming glow. This feels like time well spent, maybe spent as God intended.