Life, Photography

Morning Mists

fires-of-dawn

*

January 12th 2013…

My breath hung on the air, echoing the shifting mists over the village as I stood on the hill this morning watching the pale sun rising in the east.  The dog ran through the undergrowth chasing elusive scents, catching little crystals of frost in her fur.

Though not far from the village and the road, the world was silent apart from the muffled birdsong, wrapped in a magical blanket of amorphous white, cocooning the landscape in mystery. Yet there was an unmistakable air of awakening as the sun rose, tinting the mists with rose-gold. A burgeoning awareness, a glimpse of distant headlights as the world woke to action, a whisper of activity carried on the air. Tiny lights defined by distant windows flickered like terrestrial stars through the shrouding wraiths as households awoke and began their day beneath the pall of mist.

I watched the sun as it came up, a luminous eye gazing over a numinous world.

gold dawn

For a moment as the dawn bathed the surface of the mist below me, the face of the world changed. Nothing below the liquid gold existed to my sight, only the clear blue of the morning sky and the golden illusory sea of mist upon which I felt I could have walked to the horizon and into the sun itself.  It was an echo of eternity in a single heartbeat. The humdrum life of necessity and duty was engulfed in glory. It was still there, the foundation upon which this beauty lay, supporting it from below, reaching through it as treetop or spire, yet hidden as my usual perception of reality shifted and was lifted clear and untrammelled to soar with the kite on gilded wings.

Not for the first time it came to me how close this was to man’s quest for the Light. We spend much of our lives seeking our way blindly, following what little light we can find, yet above us, if we have the courage and commitment to make the climb, the pure, clear Light awaits us always, whether we perceive it or not through the shrouding mists of normality.

*

The sons of dawn will greet the liquid Light,
Lustral gold on heavens canvas glowing.
Painted magic banishing the night
Gilds the dream of every Seeker’s knowing.
Wings of morning flutter on the breeze,
Crystal raindrops scatter diamond bright,
Feathered choirs haunting in the trees
Bear the Seeker’s soul in joyful flight.

*

dawn trees

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