There wasn’t really a dawn this morning, just an almost imperceptible change from dark and overcast to relatively light and overcast. Taking advantage of mild temperature and no breeze, I worked in long sleeves, putting up fencing. The horse had grazed down the small pasture and I needed to extend the area before he began to cause damage. As I finished stringing the last wire, he came over to investigate the new opportunity. I thought he might take a romp around the larger area. Instead, he took a few steps into the tall grass, lowered his head and started chomping.
I finished up the project before lunch and none too soon. By early afternoon, the overcast had darkened, lowering into light mist and then adding fog. By late afternoon, the drizzle seemed to have settled in for a November siege. Just before dusk, I saw the slightest hint of light in the western sky. A few dull streaks began to show through the fog.
In only a few minutes, fingers of pink and blue showed through the gray and mist. As I walked down the sloping driveway toward the road, I could see the fog, a distinct layer of gray below the closing day. The sky lightened further as the slightest bit of breeze began pushing the fog away, down the flat of the creek bottoms. The hill and its trees stood in silhouette against the shifting light of the sunset sky. Faint, fuzzy drifts of high clouds caught the sun above the edge of mist and gray. As this played out, I thought of the Northern Lights, a sight I have only seen in pictures.
In my fifty-plus years of sunsets and shadows, I’ve never seen a more impressive play of light and tone, spectacular in its subtleness. The dreary look of mist and fog gave way to a symphony of color and shade. It is just such a miracle played out again and again in the minds and hearts of souls changed by the transforming light of faith and repentance.
A hinting of things to come when all things are made new, when the closing of the present day will send the glory of a day that will never end.