I arose early this morning, and while it was yet dark I stood barefoot and bathrobed on our back stoop. With steaming coffee cup in hand, I let the last vestiges of the night engulf me–that eerie quiet, the stillness that settles like an unseen mist right before the dawn. Then just as the sun began to rise, and the faintest glow of light painted the horizon, I heard the cry of a lone owl in the still-dark forest–so soft, so plaintive, so unbearably beautiful that it made me want to weep. What a glorious way to start a day…
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