Monday Morning Blues and Pinks

Minus 8.5℃ and it’s my turn to get up early and do the animal round. My determination to ignore the rampant puppies’ six-thirty antics and cling tenaciously to the last vestiges of a not-long-enough sleep is gradually worn down by irritation, and imaginings of puddles on the floor. Surly and reluctant, I dress hurriedly in the chilly dark and stumble blearily to open the bedroom door and be greeted by two big, bouncy, waggy, wet-nosed bundles of exuberance. No one has the right to be that buoyant so early in the morning. I reinforce my rattiness against their mindless enthusiasm. Max, disdainful of their youth, and as keen as me to stay asleep as long as possible, plays dead in the corner.

I open the front door to a tidal wave of cats that surges through the narrow gap and floods the room in search of food and warm hollows. The puppies plunge through the incoming tide to skitter across the ice and make urgent, hot puddles in the crusty snow rugs still strewn about the yard, then flounder back in pursuit of cats and commotion. I set about the morning tasks, beginning with the ceremonial lighting of the fire, and my irritation fades as the flames take hold and flicker with promise behind the freshly cleaned glass window. The rhythm of the day punches in, and the order of events unfolds in the easy flow of familiar action.

With a bucket load of hot mash and multiple containers full of hot water at the ready, I fortify myself against the freeze with layers of cosiness, and step out with the eager puppies into the rosy flush of the fresh early morning. It takes away my breath, and the dregs of my disgruntlement. It is, quite simply, lovely. After letting out the chickens, feeding the pigs, taking fresh hay to the llamas and battling with the many ice-bound water buckets, I return to the house to get the camera.

As I wander lonely as a daylight moon in the empty quiet of the new morning, basking in the pink-tinged light of loveliness, I wonder if it is possible to ever get bored with glorious sunsets and resplendent dawns. And as I take off my gloves to take the pictures, and my fingers succumb instantly to the painful hit of the deep cold, I wonder if the day will ever come when I will be able to just be, in the perfect, beautiful moment, without feeling the need to try to hold it forever in something so confined, so insufficient, so frozen as a photograph.

Sunset

Cold Dawn and Moonset

Sunrise