Prompt B

Mornings are a glorious part of the day that I rarely get to experience, my life tends to get in the way of my living. There's something so unbelievably peaceful about wandering through aging forest, past moss encrusted oaks and rocks slick with a patina of lichen, in the days first light. Walking on old trails with familiar landmarks the lightning-struck tree with its shattered trunk or on new trails with new possibilities. Walking with family or close friends, sometimes in silence out of deference to the moment or breaking the morning stillness with laughter or casual conversation. The mornings in the ancient forests of the east coast hold the same peace and stillness as the pre-dawn moments in the Rockies but the two have a different quality in the light.

The transition from night to the first rays of light is something you can't fully enjoy unless you've been hiking for over six hours climbing the highest mountain in the region occasionally watching the sky for streaks of gray amidst the sea of stars hoping you'll reach the peak in time. Finally arriving at the summit with time to watch the stars flicker and disappear in waves, the ones on the eastern horizon disappearing first and then burning out from east to west. As the stars go out the dawn breaks, washes across clearing away the black paint of night leaving the whole world in sepia tones for a few seconds before the sun begins to color the world. You try to find the tallest rock to stand on at the summit so you can raise your hand, wiggling your fingers in the chill wind watching the light start at the tips of your fingers and slowly crawl down your arm, your face, your torso, and your feet, and then pouring onto the ground beneath you.

Such spectacles come a price, namely of trading one night of sleep and the following day spent making up for the lost sleep for a scene that transpires in less than ten minutes.