I’m sitting at my writing desk watching dawn arrive over the lake on a cold, rainy morning. Almost an hour ago I said good-bye to my mother as she headed for the airport with a driver. Dawn on the lake is rarely a peach-colored glory (at least where we are on the lake) and today it’s even more timid than usual. The dawn begins as a faint glow that intensifies until the lake is no longer a black nothingness, but a rippling, living thing. The rain whispers against the windows and trees shiver. Fog cloaks the mountaintops. This weather is unseasonable for August. I think it is, anyway. We’ve been here for about three years and I’ve never seen it so rainy or so cold.
I should be packing or doing laundry or getting dressed for the long drive home, but instead I’m relishing this in between time when it’s no longer night, but not quite morning.
The other evening, while driving home from dinner and a movie, the rain (finally) stopped and the clouds parted. Perhaps dawn isn’t a spectacular event, but the sunsets are something to behold.