It was “oh dark thirty” this past Thursday morning when a voice within urged me to visit one of my favorite natural areas. I gently made my way to a favorite rock, making sure to avoid the prickly pear cactus. My goal was to be present, to photograph the predawn sky, to be in a place of pray, to listen to the silence and to take part in the gift of this mysterious and wonderful moment.

As I sat on my rock I noticed it seems to be harder and more uncomfortable with each visit. But I know this rock is being what it was created to be, a rock. Maybe I’ll bring a pillow next time. I swat at annoying, hungry mosquitoes, unsuccessfully. A couple bats quietly dart above me, those deadly predators of the mosquitos. I urge them on! A band of crickets is practicing the same song as the last morning I was here. In my opinion they are getting better each time I come. Along the water’s edge a frog croaks his song of romance. Best of luck my friend! I reach out and rub the sagebrush between my fingers. It’s my way of taking its fragrance with me when I return home, a simple and natural sacrament. A coyote silently crosses 30 feet in front of me heading towards the prairie dog town. Stopping once to turn and check me out. And those clouds! They were constant shapeshifters this morning reminding me life is constantly changing. For me there is something special about watching the colors pink and red kissing the horizon. So much to be grateful for! And now, I thank you for letting me again share with you a glimpse of my early morning in words and photographs. 

I’ll end this post with an inviting question by Mary Oliver in one of her poems, “How many mysteries have you seen in your lifetime?” My answer to her question is: everyday! What’s yours?