Day 177: With a light frost crackling beneath the soles of my shoes, I stepped into a field of jewels upon entering the pasture. Or perhaps the glitter was the scattered notes of birdsong drifting down from the Parrot Tree to become transient yellow flashes as bright as the singers' feathers. It could have been frost cast by a mist from the creek at the bottom of the hillside, but such explanations do not take into account the magic incumbent with mornings such as these. There was more here than simple meteorological mechanics and physics of light. An enchantment lay on the sapless autumn grasses and tattered leaves of a season past. In joy of a sight meant for my eyes alone, I breathed in the chill air, and it filled my spirit for I am and always will be a person of the morning.
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