“Dawn is the time when nothing breathes,
the hour of silence.
Everything is transfixed, only the light moves.”
I never tire of watching as weeds, spider webs, and brown stalks of grass are transformed into spun glass and shimmering gold by the luminous light of the rising sun.
I love following the light as it edges higher, slipping over the walls of my veggie patch and onto the flowery star bursts of the fennel blossoms.
The asparagus fronds are rendered ethereal as the sunlight catches the mist droplets clinging to each feathery branch, transforming them into shimmering diamonds.
All too soon the sun will rise, mist disappear, and the farm will return to its treasured rustic self.
But for now we will bask in magic.