I drive the familiar roads, less than one hundred miles away from home, and with the so many turns I'm taken away. Away from the city, the stress, the boxed houses and grid neighborhoods. With every turn, I drive away from congestion and towards my open heaven, I drive alongside pastures of cows feeding in a meadow bursting with new green life. Daisies and weeds bloom bright yellow wide and across the fields, Indian Paint Brushes burst orange and red, the Blue Bonnetts lagging, just on the edge of explosion. The view makes me wealthy. This is Texas, my Texas. This is the scene of my heart. I smile and drive on, towards the cabin and the familiar Live Oak and Sycamore trees and the Colorado River running fast and low, wide.
I'm in bed, with the all the windows open, the sounds of early morning birds and breeze riding across my life, my ears, my skin.
And then the velvet hour. An Owl's long and staggered question tells the world the night is leaving, the dawn is coming. The Wrens and Swallows, Blue Jays, and Starlings, Cardinals and Finches, all sing out loud, direct and celebrate the rising, the warming sun.
I take a walk through the morning light, observe the rays through one phase after another, coloring and shading the field and the woods. Clouds move like long stretches of silky hair spread out from the sun. Everything bursts with that first bit of color, that first bit of Spring life, the bright green, yellow, the sun's fire on the distant view. The hope.
I'm in the greatest place, the greatest moment, nature's decorated beginning.