You missed it if you slept late, seduced by the warmth of the covers, waiting for the heat to slowly warm up the house. There was a ribbon of red in the eastern sky, the bare tree tops forming an uneven silhouette in the distance, their leafless branches reaching and twisting, waiting for first light, and soon, spring. There is a pattern there, ancient secrets, chill morning air, fresh wind, light growing softly.
And you would not believe how brightly Jupiter burned in the western darkness! Cold and beautiful. It too looked back towards the east, acknowledging the coming of a new day, yet reluctant to leave its post, king of the predawn quietness.
Across the field I saw a light go on in the window of a home. All over the neighborhood covers were being pushed back, feet were touching cold floors, yawns and stretches and first thoughts were emerging from a deep world of dreams. Soon coffee would be brewing, sleepy eyes might glance at the headlines of a news paper. Tousled hair would be combed, clothes chosen, bread toasted, or perhaps a special treat for breakfast on a cold morning – cream of wheat? Oatmeal? As the light of day grew stronger, the trees began to look ordinary, with just the faintest hint of their former magic. Even Jupiter dimmed, turning in for the day.