Dawn's early light

I was still working on dictations at 5 AM and for the first time in a while I watched the dawn. There wasn't so much green and there weren't so many leaves and branches last year because the tree-hating orc wench still lived in the Lon Chaney house next door, but this year the view is enclosed in a leafy frame. Some of the leaves are turning yellow and beginning their fluttering trip to the ground, but right now everything is still a beautiful green that is darker and more vibrant in the rising bloody light of the dawn.

Last night the view out my window was a black hole centered on the orange-yellow sodium vapor street lamp at the corner. Everything, including my eyes, were drawn to that one spot of brilliance in the total black of night. The windows reflected back the monitor and the little Victorian stained glass lamp that sits on top of the CPU tower next to my desk. It was a lonely night full of silence and the faint whisperings of moths fluttering against the screen drawn to the faint glow of the monitor. Off in the distance a train whistle sounded a strangled drawn out moan as I sat above the neighborhood in my office aerie.

Working away the long silent hours of night it took me a while to realize the sky was lighter, a faint blush of pink barely visible through the trees, washed out by the orange-yellow street light, and still it drew my gaze as I yearned for the dawn. Each moment brought a new color, a little more light and the harsh blaze from the street lamp gave up its power to the rising sun. Unable to give up a single moment of the miracle, I got my camera and recorded this August dawn as the awakening wind teased the branches and leaves to stretch forth their green fingers toward the morning sun and dawn's early light.