A thin line of silver clouds hovers just above the cold, Eastern horizon. Slowly, determined the sun begins it’s ascent. It confronts these clouds, a short swing with it’s golden sword slices through their ice, into the darkened blue of the early morning sky.

Cotton ball clouds appear to gather in the sun’s sharpened rays, they fill and billow into orange…then pink puffs of morning heat until so full they burst with exploding slivers of light shooting from their seams.

Prismatic fingers of warmth poke into my world and ward the cold from the tips of my ears. A final sip of now cooled coffee, one last glance at this day’s birth and I turn to go back inside, accompanied with that one consummate thought. If only.

11-20-06