In the quiet of the dark, I arose. I arose to pitch black slid to grey, hoping for a water color wash. I looked up, hoping for rosy dawn, but did not find her. The impatiens on my balcony opened, one bud at a time, as I sprinkled life-giving water over them.
The birds arose early morning, soon creating a clatter of song, cacophony to some, but music to me. I heard Chickadee's mating call, Grackles and Starlings chatter, a Mourning Dove plaintive's cry. In the distance, the Scooch-Scooch of the Pheasant.
The sky, moments before, a grey paste, broke into an arpeggio scale of pastels: pink, orange and peach, the color of my impatiens, and the sun slid imperceptibly over the horizon, peeking at the day.