February the Fifth

It may have happened; the coming of the light (as Mark Strand so eloquently reminds us). The first glimpse of the sky this morning, as the light came up, was shot with pink. It gives you a reason to get out of bed. And out in it, with the dogs, surrounded with birdsong, there it was; a tiny glimpse of spring. And so that blanket of cold and wet and gray had its corner lifted up, just a little, to allow in the magic of light, of longer days, or the yearning of summer with all its promise. I find it impossible to see in the greyness. The cloud covers everything, quietens the birds, dampens one's spirit (mine). Today, something broke. Happily.

I take inadequate pictures on my phone that I hope will express this better. How much can you say in a moment?

If you can, for a moment, go out at in it, at dawn, wherever you are, and listen to the birds. Be near the trees if you are lucky enough to have trees near you. Be in it and breathe it in and remember that we are part of all of this. A tiny, infinitesimal part of this beauty, and even when we don't think it does, its magic flows through us.