Breathing fast and slow

Early morning Thanksgiving in my part of the world, the sky was intensely red. The color seemed to leak into the leaves of the trees already marked by fall's color wheel, making them pop even redder. It reminded me of a morning last December. It was the morning before a friend's memorial, and I was out with the dog. The dog was engaged in his business, and I was engaged in mine. In that time before thoughts take over, I was enjoying the dawn air and light and sounds. I remarked then--and later at our friend's memorial as a way of paying tribute to times I'd spent with him and the directions our conversations would so often travel--at how the dawn light seemed to be bleeding into the trees, so much so that the color seemed to drain from the sky and into the trees' leaves right before my eyes. I wondered how science might explain this, this early morning illusion, this mystery at dawn. This is the stuff I feel fortunate to witness. It makes me feel good. About me. Y