How Pink the Dawn

Trees Among the PinkArising before the dawn, I cross stone landing and clamber down the three steps from our bedroom where Jerry and Winston yet slumber on our wide bed. I walk my morning trek . . .to the thermostat, to the switch whose click will throw first light on the kitchen, a glimpse at the thermometer outside the window over the sink, a push of the button that sets the coffee to gurgle.

I pull slender cords that spread wide the blinds to show the glassy expanse. Black out there now, but I know the light will come, for I remember well—recall from countless yesterdays. The rise of the mountains from the bowl of Lake Gregory will in a few minutes penetrate the dark and announce the day. Those pointy trees will still be there, firmly rooted, and I will stare, as I have thousands of times before.

My favorite couch faces that large window. I meditate and mull and consider. I contemplate options and opposing views. Life expectancy charts come to mind as do the faces of my doctors and of my children, and of dear Jerry.

Then I see it and know I must move quickly. Light is fragile. Swift as life. That spectacular pink spread, gauzy now with fog is for but a moment. I take up my camera, move through the wide opening to the front deck, make shutter adjustments, lift my camera, and doing the best I can, capture this stately scene.

Such a scene cannot be truly captured, nor can a life be truly made clear.





8 thoughts on “How Pink the Dawn

  1. Dear Sister Buxton… No one but God can paint the dawn.. And I don’t believe anyone can describe it better than you. Today’s post is beautiful and profound!! Love and prayers to you!


  2. Sis Buxton, your writings mean so much to are on my prayer list and my heart is with you. I too, have walked through The Valley for the past ten months after almost losing my life after having two major surgeries in two days. So thankful that we have our Master holding us in His arms each step of the way, and we are so blessed as we can also call Him Daddy.
    My prayers will continue to be with you and your family.


    1. Oh, my goodness, I thank you for sharing these thoughts with me. So sorry for the distress you have suffered. Agree so much with you, though, that we are so privileged to be in closeness with our Savior. Appreciate your prayers so much.


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