Dawn scrubs the world clean, and then douses it with sparkling light.
I ran at dawn today, a fitting time — because today is a beginning of sorts. A new career after fifteen years at my old one. And so, in the gray gloom of the pre-dawn, I followed the silver river of the road to my usual running spot, clambered out of the car with a uncaffeinated yawn and then took flight in my sneakers with the bright-pink laces.
My body, stiff from sleep and yesterday’s hike, seemed uncertain but found its rhythm, mid-foot pounding the pavement as I passed through the swamp.
While many Pagans prefer nightfall and full moons, dawn is, to me, the most sacred of times. It is a rare time, one easily missed by shift-workers, college students and sundry late sleepers, or simply by the inattentive dead-set on thrusting themselves into the routines of the day.
The wan light passes through grayness into red and gold, and finally the light blue that lifts the heart. Birds are at their most active, tossing threads of song back and forth on the loom of the day. Mist rises from the river, clouds come to earth, hallowing all in unearthly shrouds.
Today, the catbird sat on the bench, unperturbed by my hellos. The robins darted, catching their ubiquitous worms. Wildflowers bobbed along the trail, and the light caught the long hair of the grasses as it strengthened. Rabbits squabbled in silence, chasing each other into the honeysuckle, which perfumed the path in sweetness.
Hail Aine, bright face of the day! Hail to the spirits of nature and place, and the Gods of the land!