Dawns Early Light

Another dawn, another day of life; it is the peaceful birth of an August summer day here at the Chicken Ranch. The sun rises, and hope rises with it. Hope of another day of health, of productivity, and growth in my spirit.
I stand leaning against the porch post with my hands around my coffee mug, and take in a deep chest expanding breath.  And, I say as I always say at the breaking of day, "Thank you kindly Lord, for another day of life and health for me and my family. I don't look on it lightly."

  I push my hat down on my head, step off the porch, and walk along the path between the flower gardens.The morning is quiet and moist. The dew dampens the toe of my boots as I amble slowly from the flower beds and out to where the critters live.

Like a smoky blanket, a layer of fog hovers just over the meadows around us. Floating gently, it is as if the misty apparition is tethered there by the heads of the tallest fox grasses. Above the morning mist, the sun slowly peeks over the horizon and spreads orange fans of soft light across the brightening sky.

A black shadow appears high in a tree that is back-lit by the rising sun, and a limb dips down and then up again. "Good morning Mr. Squirrel, " I say as I sip from the mug, "stay out of my pear tree today." Hershey, our Chocolate Lab, creeps from his house, opens his mouth wide, and stretches his dark brown body and legs. "Sleeping in I see," I say to him, "I'm gonna have to cut your wages." He wags his tail and woofs sleepily in response.

Small patches of sparkling dew-laden grass appear along the yard as the sun filters through the mist. In the garden, the pole beans glisten with the nighttime moisture, and water slips slowly and silently down the giant pumpkin leaves to golden straw mulch below. An early rising grasshopper drinks from a water droplet that is clinging to the rusty wire tomato cage. The vegetables look colorful, shiny, and fresh. Reds, greens, and yellows hang from the pepper and tomato plants. Orange pumpkin blossoms peek from under elephant ear sized leaves, as the shadows lift gradually from the garden.

The air is cool and fresh, and steam rises from my coffee cup. The chickens gather the morning air under their wings as they flap them; entering the yard and looking for an insect breakfast. There is only a slight breeze that gently raises and lowers the blanket of mist, like a sheet being fluffed before floating gently  to the bed.

The forecast calls for 86 degree temps today, and it seems that all things living are soaking up this pleasant atmosphere in anticipation of the warm day ahead. I work my way to the wood shed,take a peek inside (for what reason I do not know), and head back up to the porch. It's time to refill my coffee cup and see about some breakfast. I take one more look around.' Sun-nah-lay-i ohs-tuh' the Cherokee call it, the morning that is good.

It is good to be alive and well. It is good to see the night slip away and the day come alive. It is good to see the earth in the beauty of dawns early light.