This ain't a humorous post; more under the "or else" part of the "laugh or else" slogan I've recently launched. Right now, it is dusk. Evening. Evensong. My favorite part of the day.
Then there are dawn folks. Meloncutter's one of 'em. You may be too.
Often, dusk marries dawn. Or vice versa. (Not in this marriage, but, yes, in my previous one.)
I am of the belief, perhaps supported by scientific studies, that you're one or the other. Night hawks. Or roosters. As some put it, fowl or owl. (Or something like that.) Dr. Andrew, can you shed any lambent light on this?
In the Dawn Department, I want to recommend someone, informally The Secretary of Dawns.
I do this with some hesitancy. My never-met-except-through-words friend may be irked that I'm being forward enough to shine this dawn-intrusive spotlight in this manner. Forgiveness and understanding are sought in advance.
But we're all in the blogosphere. It's out there. In the ether.
In the mystic dawn.
The beautiful mystic dawn.
As chronicled and painted by The Secretary of Dawns.
Matins. Morning song. Morning prayer.
The still small voice of nature's pulse.
Check it out.
A journey "felt along the blood," to use Wordsworth's phrase from "Tintern Abbey."