One Time I Saw Morning Come Home

Flowers gather in a meadow as if to worship the rising Sun. They know the Light from whom they gain life giving warmth.

With the passing of the darkness of night, the dews distill upon the surrounding blades of grass. Similiar in commotion to the gathering of instruments in an orchestra.

The night frosts retreat.

With everyone in place and as if in a demonstration of love and an expression of gratitude, the flowers spead their petals, reaching heavenward, giving themselves to the light. While surrounding dew drops, as though fans in a great colliseum, unaware of their own beauty, they themselves reflecting the Light, witness the beauty of the flowers. All this during the return of morning.

On this day, in the simplest unadvertised way, I saw morning come home.

Photos and text by Quinn

My title
"One Time I Saw Morning Come Home"
Comes from a book by Clair Huffaker, a relative.