I am in my office this sixth day of a new year, shades open, houses and trees visible outside my bank of windows. The clock reads “8:25.” This time of year I am used to starting my days in the dark walking Indie. I make little effort to see much, since there is little to see. I am also used to night fading to a dull neutral and calling it day.
Then, I look up and see a small fire through the bare branches. As if an artist dipped her brush in copper pigment and placed it on a blank canvas, letting the paint form a pool of color before moving the brush in a single broad stroke to the right. I keep watching. “And God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night.” The stroke of color intensifies. Now I see a brilliant band of light: the narrow eye of dawn.
Even a quiet dawn is a beginning. This is when it happens. This is when I think of a loved one. This is when I resolve to be a better person. This is when an insight comes to my dull brain, sparking new energy. Even as gray, dawn is noticeable. Even as a thin streak that is gone as quickly as it appeared, dawn brings more light.
