Like scattered ashes firie leaves littered the space around and adove me. Funny how the death of something once apart of these trees is now turned into an artwork of water colour and ink.
Now the early morning sunlight that crept it’s way above the horizon line overtakes the lingering shadow of the previous night. It lights up dew drops that lay fragile on the grass that the trees now cast long shadows across.
The artwork of a morning gave way to the routine of another day followed by a kind of morning in reverse. Sun turns gold and sinks slowly behind the horizon line.
Although morning is like the unravelling and awakening of an artwork the best time is when all is still , quiet and dark outside.