“I count myself lucky, having long ago won a lottery paid to me in seven sunrises a week for life.”
There is something inexpressibly beautiful about the first light in the morning, when the sun breaks through the dim darkness and paints the sky with gentle dawn colours. When the rays of light find their way through the soft mist and kiss the silent trees good morning. When only birds are awake to greet the new day, their song resounding across the still waters and through the woodland canopy. There is something inexpressibly beautiful about being awake to behold the maginificent beauty of this world, while everyone else still asleep.
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.
When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,
And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind
Like aged warriors westward, tragic, thinned
Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,
Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak,
Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek,—
Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushes
My heart. I know that Beauty must ail and die,
And will be born again, – but ah, to see
Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky!
Oh, Autumn! Autumn! – What is the Spring to me?
Edna St. Vincent Millay