Jane Ellen

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Faeryland at Dawn

The sun is rising later as seasons shift and mornings grow colder. Where once on lazy Saturdays the sun shone in my eyes to awaken me, it's now closer to half-seven before it finally peeks its lazy head above the horizon.

The building in which I live is built around an enclosed garden, a long rectangular area between the wings of the building, with no access to or from the outside world. Pavement paths wind around grassy areas, and old fashioned street lamps shine with a warm golden glow from dusk to dawn. Tall trees, catalpa and pine, tower over the building with branches bending so near I can almost touch the leaves from my balcony.

This morning I happened to catch a softly beautiful display: the winds were still, the lamps still shone, and dawn was breaking gently. Thin ribbons of stratus clouds shone with first a pink, then a rose, and finally a golden glow; a few darker clouds could be seen as well against the now pale but nearly colourless sky.

I went outside to watch and soak in the surreal atmosphere, and nearly gasped as a brilliant blue strip of sky suddenly broke through the clouds. All was still, no birds sang, and the recent winds had completely vanished. I breathed deeply, awestruck by a moment both sublime and sacred. I wish that I could bottle that feeling and carry it with me all day.

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