There’s something about a still February morning.

Overhead, the sky is still black, but only the brightest stars are still visible. The lesser stars have already become invisible, while the strongest ones are only pale imitations of their nighttime brightness. To the East, the sky is becoming a pale blue, while the few clouds have become a glorious rose gold color. It seems that these colors, in these combinations, are only seen around this time of year.

Leafless trees stand in stark, black relief against the brightening horizon. Their branches form an intricate, natural lace, revealing their complex arrangement. But they are one dimensional in this light; delicately beautiful, but seemingly draw by some unseen hand to highlight the beauty in the sky. No depth to them, only contrast.

The quiet of the still air is broken occasionally by the call of unseen birds. All these years and I have never bothered to find out what birds make what calls. Yet another thing left undone in my life. Mornings like this are even more beautiful when there is snow blanketing the world. Alas, there is no snow this morning. Maybe tomorrow there will be snow.