The Color of Light

Somewhere along Spring Creek on a very cold dawn . . .

The cackling laughter of the kingfisher echoed off the bare trees.

The snow crunched beneath my feet; I broke through the crust with every step.

The morning light hadn't crested the tops of the trees yet.

I couldn't see the sunrise even though I knew it was there.

Light was coming - not here, not yet - but coming.

I could see its true colors reflected in the waters below.

Isn't it strange how the truth of a thing can sometimes be found only in its reflection?

The song: Cyndi Lauper, True Colors, live in Paris, 1987.