Mornings are magic, especially in Maine. The darkness and all the creatures that live within in it begin to recede, at first slowly and then rapidly. You can hear them scuffling as they slink away, looking for their burrows and dolmens to hide under. Then the slightest change in perception occurs. Suddenly it’s not quite so dark, and your eyes are drawn to where silhouettes are now appearing. The tiniest, almost impossibly transparent, shade of pink occurs just at the horizon in the east toward the ocean--a slight rim of hope. But soon it grows and a soft glow of true pink appears.
Yet nothing could prepare you for what’s to come. As if by magic--yes, certainly, it must be
magic!--the Earth turns just enough for the sun to highlight the clouds. It lasts only a few minutes, if that much,
and then full daylight is upon us. But
in those few precious minutes, the most spectacular magic occurs. My camera cannot do it justice, but I have
done my best to capture it nonetheless.
Suddenly, your knees go weak and you learn what true majesty actually
is.
If you can look at it, directly into the magic, it enters
your heart and soul. You must be quick,
though! You will know when it has
happened as the feeling is unmistakable.
Somehow your lost hopes and dreams are rekindled because, after all, it
is another day.
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| Morning magic in all its glory. |
