Dawn's Early Light

So...  I've noticed some odd things about sleeping in a window and my being mostly handicapped. I take a lot of pictures out windows...  I see my world through the panes, but I do see a lot. In fact, I've noticed some mornings that my shoulders rather hurt from subconscious, pre-awakening muscle strain. I've been sort of hanging mid-air, looking out my window long before I truly decide I'm awake. Suddenly I wonder why I'm staring without seeing out and down my mom's long lane. I laugh at myself and either lie back down or get up for the day... and wonder why I'm up so early with no place to go.

This morning, I decided to grab my new camera and head to the back porch to capture some silhouettes of our bare March trees with their timid new growth, posing pristinely before a pinkly azure sky predawn. All shots are taken through a very old porch window (which could use a little Windex, I think.)

I'd wondered where my 4:30 Moon had gone. Here is the sliver, barely up in the sky at 6 a.m. Experimenting with lense settings, I tried to get it to perch on a tree like a glistening fruit on a branch.

At this point I was just snapping the sunrise. Then I noticed a couple odd lumps in the barren bean field behind our house. Oh, deer! I was amazed to find three deer slipping into focus.

Outside the window you will see an abandoned club house built for my son by my ever-creative father. Now, akimbo, the club house still stands through all these wind, snows, and crumbling times. It needs to be razed, but something about the happy past prohibits my son from destroying this bit of his childhood.  It's his to tumble. I have my own messes to consider.

Then, as either my eyes focus or the light begins to grow, I'm counting more and more. Six. I see six deer grazing for breakfast in my mom's back field. I consider our neighbors and friends who hunt and hope these deer stay safely out of sight when they are stalking through the forest with their bows and arrows. I'm always sad during hunting season. Although I realize how prolific deer can ruin crops, gardens, and flowers, I would still run a game sanctuary if I could.

My mother was, by that time, getting up. Her movements on her walker, however soft, penetrated the house walls. When she flushed the stool, my deer raised their majestic heads to weigh their peril factor. They heard her rolling through the wooden hallway, and they stopped foraging long enough to determine they were still safe.

The temperatures are now 70 degrees by day and 30 degrees by night. Frost on the roofs, fields, and windows. I love the reflections of dawn almost as much as the real thing.

All in all, I finally counted up to eleven in the herd. I'm wondering where they sleep, if they'll be back tomorrow, and if they will survive spring bow season. My dad gave our renter permission to hunt. He actually gave a neighbor permission also, but they didn't seem to get along in the woods after my father's passing, so I had to make the decision to let the renter have control.

Curious to the early home sounds, they began to move even farther into the morning.  Mom did get to see them also.

My son and a friend are coming for lunch. I've been up four hours, and it's only 8:30. I'd say it's just about time for a nap.