…He saw the scene and felt a happiness in his soul, the way one feels returning and knowing one is home. He felt the sense for his own fields, his own dawns and sunsets under heavens of light while laboring in a world of timeless toil, the labor on which kingdoms and civilization began and that—with all our modern marvels—Man will fail if ever His toil since Eden should cease.
His own sky was just waking. It was the moment in dawn when indigo shows in its own fine band, the only time and place it ever revealed to him distinctly in the spectrum of human perception. Venus shone alone above a stand of naked trees, the greatest light in sky—larger in life than any star—and he thought of other Goddesses, once mistaken for stars, that shined to him as such across distances of worlds and dreams.
A cold burn lit on the bottoms of his toes as the deeper pads of his feet absorbed and became only a subtle numbing. The sky and world were changing, and a frost formed beneath his uncovered feet. It was the last stand of a night and cold that could not hold, and in the cloudless dawn to come, it would burn fast away, leaving blades of grass sheened in a new day-dew.
The dew and sheen would come when the light of the world appeared, but for now the last lie of a dying night took form, and its light pain to the bottoms of his toes returned him back indoors. He would view the rest from the warmth of a kitchen island—reading, writing, and slow-drinking coffee black—as the world around him transformed in the time of day so many miss, searching instead for rest before the artificial race in monotony of settled days and nights.
The transitions were what he loved, when worlds transform—revealing colors, lights, frosts and dews—and, every day, God welcomes us to hold witness to the return of the Light of the World.
He wondered if she saw it this way, if her world gave the same peace as his own open fields; if it inspired in her a known belonging, a home of place and purpose in the divine Cosmic continuation of Man in this world; if she felt magic in the sky and light, and the message in the last cold before warming fire broke in sky. Did every dawn gift Romance, or just another day?
