27 October 2005

Mellow

I could have called this 'Observations of a Garage Wall'.

This morning as my husband left for work, I went to the door, as usual, kissed him as usual, stood out on the doorstep, as usual, and then completely forgot to wave. Poor soul.

It would have been nice if we'd made it to the door five minutes earlier, if we'd have time to stop and stare together, nonetheless, as he made his way down the hill in the half-light, I was transfixed by the sky.

This morning at 6.30, the stars were out. Not just out, but sparkling like something from a children's book. The air was just right, the sky was still just a shade too dark to be called a blue, there wasn't a single cloud anywhere and the stars, the stars looked so fat and sparkly and near and magical, spread out perfectly, as if to allow the individual beauty of each one to really hit you, smack, right between the eyes.

Once I remembered I was on a public street, in bare feet and an old dressing gown, I padded back indoors and sat here, at my little desk, in my little corner.

It didn't take long for the light, or the little fluffy clouds to appear; cotton balls dressed in a sherbet pink and for a while I worried that the weather report was wrong - pink morning skies usually mean cold days. It took maybe fifteen minutes more for the world to wake up and my window became a frame for silvery skies, white blue heavens and sun-stroked clouds and plane tracks, as if the light was coming from the ground and bouncing off them with all the joy of a summer day.

Only the white gloss paint on the garage fascia, the eaves if you like, reflected a warm pink glow. Being the sort who can quite easily be transfixed, I nestled in with my mug of coffee and watched as that glow turned slowly to gold, before matching the silver of the sky very briefly, then falling into shadow as the sun rose high.

Now the heavens are a slightly fuzzy baby blue and speak of the best warm weather for late May; never mind that it will really be November next week. I say they speak of it, because I am still in bare feet and snuggled up indoors - certainly not baby anything, but absent minded and charmed by the morning, and decidedly fuzzy and warm.

Have a lovely day.

14 comments:

Annie said...

Lovely! It's so nice to see the sky properly, without the light pollution. Have a good day!

She Weevil said...

Bloglines buggered againm - thanks for your lovely post.

Ally said...

Ah, I feel all snuggly inside :).

zilla said...

Oh, Cherrrrrrryllllll,

Beautiful, beautiful dscription of morning. Felt like I was there.

The Man on the Clapham Ambulance said...

Cheryl, Thank you, as always, for your kind words and the links (two days ago). But twisted? Me? I've barely started!
MOTCA.

doris said...

Wonderful description. I'm reading this at the end of the day and it makes me feel all happy and snuggly :-)

Tabby Rabbit said...

I was on a 6am flight and saw the sun rise over mainland Europe. It was so gorgeous - as you described (and beyond words I could summon) - that I had to disturb the not-very-impressed suits in my row to get my little digital camera out of my bag (in the overhead locker, naturally) and act the complete airline tourist.

It was breathtaking - and a reminder of our inconsequential place in the world (somehow I found it strangely reassuring - considering I was several miles up in the air in a pressurised container).

Ange said...

*Wish I read this beautiful post earlier...but maybe I'll catch tonight's sunset.

Ange said...

*It's only 3:10 at my house, by the way. How was the sunset? Thanks for sending it our way...

Astryngia said...

Mmmm - truly poetic. It's good to realise that in amongst the everyday challenges it's always possible to take a moment or two to really appreciate the world around us and know just how good that makes us feel and what a lovely impact it has on those we connect with, too. :-)

(Thanks for popping by!)

fineartist said...

You describe the very reason why I find it so difficult to capture nature in a painting or drawing. It, many times, feels futile for me to attempt to create anything that is more beautiful than the actual beauty of nature itself, anything else, that I create anyway, is merely an abstract representation that pales in comparison.

I love that feeling that you describe here, and the sight of it in my minds eye that you are able to create with words. I wish I could have been there drinking up the atmosphere and coffee with ya.

bart said...

hey cheryl, thanks for this, i had a bit of the same this morning, slightly overtaken and overwhelmed by the altered colour plays around me in the semi darkness....

thanks for your well articulated addition, it meant a lot to me...

Badaunt said...

I can never see many stars here (unless I walk very hard into the door, of course). Too much pollution and too much city light.

In France, however, staying with my friends in the countryside, one night I stepped outside, looked up, and was reminded that there is a whole universe out there. There are not two or three anemic twinkles. There are BILLIONS. I had forgotten what it felt like, looking at the stars.

What a lovely feeling, and you've captured it.

Karen said...

What a pretty description!

Michele sent me...