Sunrise was lovely this morning—the light strong and rich, golden as the jars of wildflower honey my uncle used to bring us from his bees which he kept in hives at the back of his garden down on the mysterious Green River. Inspiring. Enough that I made this shot of the river…enough that a merry song sparrow was moved to fill the air with his cheery notes.
Of course it could be well argued that any morning—golden-washed sunrise and birdsong-filled or not—ought to be counted lovely, given that no guarantees were handed out when we turned in the night before that we'd be among those waking up to check things out.
Days are life's blessing—a bit more allotted time to look around and appreciate the gift.