Morning Light

 

The rising sun gives a quality of softness and misty patina to the light that eases its way through the pine trees. The sky is not yet a stark strong blue. The shadows are muted. There is a blur about it all as though through a soft focus camera lens. And then, and you must watch closely to catch it, the focus is distinct, the shadows strong, the sky a clear white. (The blue comes first overhead leaving the rounded edges of the sky to catch up as the sun rises higher.) The forest light climbs the trees until the tops of the pines at hand are lit as clearly as the forest in the distance. A wafting breeze catches a long strand of cobweb and blows it into the sun so that it appears as a sparkling bit of filament for one brief glance before disappearing again into the shadows. To see the Chief on horseback or Titania, the fairy queen, come gliding through such light would feel normal and correct. The modern day setting of the deck and the distant hum of traffic are peripheral to the immediate aura of presence engendered by something as simple as sunlight through the pines.