Morning glow

Yesterday, as Little Owl and I drove towards Edinburgh we encountered a beautiful sight. While the south side of the Forth river was darkened by thick rain clouds, the hills of the Kingdom of Fife on the north side were emblazoned with sunlight. They could have been made of solid gold the way they were illuminated. Beyond them the sky was pale blue, streaked with hues of oranges and creams. It reminded me of a story told by the poet Edwin Muir, when his wife was seriously ill. Waiting one day by the doctor’s door he “…glanced at a little tree a few steps away. A lamp above the door shone straight on it, illuminating it like a Christmas tree, and on one of the twigs a robin was sitting, looking at me, quite without fear, with its round eyes, its bright breast liquidly glowing in the light. As I stared at it out of my worry, which was a world of its own, the small glittering object had an unearthly radiance, and seemed to be pouring light into the darkness without and the darkness inside myself. It astonished and reassured me.” Here is a drawing of another such moment.

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