In my last post, I was dwelling on the dying of the day, on the quick and early onset of the January evening, to be faced without benefit of Christmas candles.  This morning, as Kiko and I set out on our walk, I realized it had been a while since I paid close attention to the onset of the day.  This winter sunrise, I would be observant.  I was not disappointed.

The morning didn’t appear especially promising as we began.  The sky was stubbornly gray, the land dull and shadowy.  The possibility of further light seemed unlikely.  But before long, real signs of sunrise became evident.  Soon the bare tree branches were silhouetted in inky black, as in a Magritte painting, against a sky that shaded from rose to lavender.  A bright crescent moon hung, jewel-like. 

These trees seem to lean in towards one another for company as they await the light.

I hadn’t planned on venturing into the woods, but Kiko was determined.  Despite the difficulties of negotiating the brambles and unruly profusion of vines while being tugged along by my headstrong dog, I was glad he insisted.  A perfect-looking January morning should be snow-covered, in my opinion.  In the absence of the white fluffy stuff, a heavy frost is the next-best adornment.  The tangled weeds along the banks of the creek were dressed up with a pearly iridescent coating.  The woods and sky glowed with the same pale, elegant luminosity.  Such winter mornings are among the early-rising dog-walkers’ best rewards; I’m glad I didn’t miss this one.