Pretty in Pink

Last night before bed, I told Mark that I was going to sleep until 9. I have never in my life slept until 9, but because I made the claim with some forcefulness, I was a little disappointed when the clock read 5:34 this morning.  My disappointment evaporated 45 minutes later, though, when the eastern sky oozed pink.

I'm not a runner, but Finn and I nearly ran out the door when I saw that sky, bolting to Woods Park for a clearer view of a beautiful start to a new day.  --Isn't that what we all crave--a clearer view of a beautiful start to a new day?

As we entered Woods Park, just in front of the cowboy statue, we were given a bonus--half a rainbow arcing its way downward to meet us.  I don't use the word blessed very often, but that's how I felt.  Blessed and grateful that I didn't sleep until 9, because, as any sky-gawking Nebraskan knows, rainbows and pink clouds and perfect lighting are all so fleeting.

We wended our way through the park twice this morning, filling up on everything, imagining that the churr of crickets was actually the sound of satellites whizzing through the universe above our heads.  Or at least that's what I was imagining.  Finn was probably thinking about bunnies lurking in the uncut grass along the perimeter.    And by the time we found ourselves at the cowboy statue again, I realized that the half rainbow had grown into two rainbows,  giddy cousins trying to show each other up.

My morning walks feel like air to me--utterly necessary to my continuation upon this earth.  They center and calm and fill and energize me.  These walks jolt stories and concerns, joy and to-do lists out of me and remind me that--despite all the hard news of this life--there is always a softness to this world, a gentleness and rhythm that are immensely comforting.

I feel bad for all those folks still slumbering this morning.  Already, they have missed so much--the call of the great-horned owl that woke me, the pretty-in-pink sky, the rainbows, the sprinkles that were like gold flecks falling through the morning light.

All that goodness, and it's only 7:21.