in splendor robed

Mornings at this time of year can be full of ominous colors. Gone are the turquoises of spring and the indigos of August. Instead the sun is blinding in the eastern sky, its light a burnt-orange. And yet its rise across the heavens is rushed – its stamina waning.

I’m in North East, Pennsylvania a state-line community on Lake Erie. Vineyards cover the rolling fields, Concord grapes perfume the air and harvesters roam the side-roads. The morning light is grey and the skies overcast and yet the horizon is on fire. But in months this phoenix, born in the dark days of 2012, will expire.

The title is from the 93^rd Psalm. I went looking at the Psalm selections for Matins and Lauds hoping to find something about the rising son. Instead found hymns to a glorious God, so I truncated the lines and used the words I liked.