The Blue of the Day

The blue of the day is a winter phenomenon. In fact, it is more set apart even than that. It must be winter and the ground must be snow laden. That is when the conditions are right for my favorite moments of light to appear. For me, it's right after the kids trudge into the dark, bitter cold morning; boots clomping to the bus. If I linger near the door just long enough to watch them crest the corner and arrive at the stop, if I stay and watch to see their demeanor, if I listen for that yellow bus to accelerate on the next street. For that, for that, I am rewarded with the blue light.
It's as morning has just begun to consider the waking of day. As I do, when the alarm first rings. I always just need a moment to at first consider and mull over the mere idea of pulling back warm covers and feeling the biting cold air of a house asleep and shrouded in darkness. So as the sun considers and night is already turning in, there are just a couple of sweet minutes of blue. It begins momentarily with a deep navy, and then lightens to a penetrating cadet blue in which it seems the whole neighborhood were glowing; as if painted by a child.
It is in that blue glow, that I become transfixed by my street, for it becomes somehow more magical and interesting colored in blue. I think of Michigan, my birthplace, which I have returned to after all this time. And I revel in the blessedness of my being here, in the bosom of the outdoors; enjoying this homeland where the woods and the water, the sky and snow reveal myself to me. It is a deep, abiding love I have for the outdoors. How it slept so long I wonder at times. But not in the blue. In the blue light, I can only think of the love. And if I listen closely, I will hear Lake Michigan beckoning through the dawn. And the blue snow fades to white, and my will isn't strong enough to keep it stayed.
The sun kisses the sky with peach and rose and dawn has begun. I thank God for the blue, I know he made it just for me. And in it, He speaks.