Cold Dawn, Parma | Mark Lindsay

I had to rise at 4:00 AM this morning, earlier than is my habit. The morning light is lazy this time of year, not getting around to lighting our neighborhood until after 7:00. As I write this the trees outside my window are nothing but dark shadows looming over a dim sky. It is a time of day that brings out the optimist in me. The world awakens to all possibilities.

It is that way at dawn. One has the world to oneself. Light is magic, transforming ordinary things into sculptural expression. Sounds are soft and singular. The orchestra of life builds slowly, layer upon layer—everything there is stirs and rises.

This time of day evokes more memories than any other. It reminds me of leaving on trips and awakening in strange lands. The slowly waning darkness is both sweet and melancholic. It shrouds one in protective cloud of secrecy that rises like the most gentle morning mist. It is a time of inspiration and reflection, a sweet moment of the day when one can take in the brisk morning air, not yet polluted with the machines of modern life.

In just a moment, the world will transform into a Monday morning scream. Radio talk shows will shout about traffic, politics, and yesterday's football games. It will all seem so important. The stock market will go down until it goes up until it goes down again. Then the tempest will exhaust itself and after settling into the long autumn night we will be back here again. A dawn's view is always the best.