When you live just west of a mountain, every morning is an experience in changing light. It's easy to miss because it starts early no matter the season. May is a particularly nice time to explore morning here, though; everything is blooming and the mornings are soft and sweet. Every place has its own morning look and feel, I think; I've lived in cloudier, darker places and can tell you exactly what morning was like there too. I like to think of morning in terms of inside and outside, much as I do evening. These times of day when things are getting started or finishing up are my favorite; I like the transitional times.
Outside, morning begins with a creeping light. As the sun rises from behind the peak, the sky transforms, pearly-pale to deepening blue, streaky pastel clouds fading to white. The sun makes it over the mountain, and over my garden wall. The shadows are long and low. Pink and red flowers glow in a muted way, greens brighten and berries shine. Leaf-shadows dapple the garden wall and the patio, the walls of the house, the chimney and the chicken coop. Sprinkler-spray sparkles in the grass and on the leaves and petals of our plants (natural dew is a special event). The mountain is somber and imposing in the morning, cloaked in dark gray instead of the watermelon-pink it wears at sunset. But then there is the moment when the sun picks out the tram cables draped across the mountain's face and suddenly they appear: fine, fleeting fairy strands.
Inside, my mornings begin with light too. I've yet to meet a window treatment that can keep a bedroom truly dark, especially as we approach the summer solstice. I wake to golden light bleeding around the edges of the blind, the window glass already warm to the touch. The bathroom is festooned with surprising rainbows as its small, high window bends the early sunshine. In the kitchen, light filters through the honeysuckle outside the east-facing window, shadowy squares shifting on the table. I make breakfast in a rapidly brightening kitchen, candy-colored plastic bowls glowing as I fill them with cereal. All of it - the bright tumblers of milk, the bananas on the counter and the flowers on the table - catches the changing light. The breakfast table gleams like a beacon of family nourishment, making morning at my house look like an advertisement for good, pure things.
When all is said and done, I sit at the table with my tea. The sun is higher now, past the breakfast-nook window and over the flat roof, the house warming under strengthening sun. My tea waits until I can sit down to drink it, steam dissipating as it cools. Morning is a good time for me; I am a morning person. It's simple - I like a fresh start and a clean slate and morning always provides both. Some people talk about the harsh light of morning, but I prefer to think of it as better illumination.
Don't forget to visit the other Color Collaborative blogs for more of this month's posts. Just click on the links below:
Annie at Annie Cholewa
Sandra at Cherry Heart
Gillian at Tales from a happy house.
CJ at Above the River
Sarah at mitenska
What is The Color Collaborative?
All creative bloggers make stuff, gather stuff, shape stuff, and share stuff. Mostly they work on their own, but what happens when a group of them work together? Is a creative collaboration greater than the sum of its parts? We think so and we hope you will too. We'll each be offering our own monthly take on a color related theme, and hoping that in combination our ideas will encourage us, and perhaps you, to think about color in new ways.