Reluctantly, I peeked out the door,
my face shocked by brisk, frigid air.
How the dogs could linger was a mystery.
And then I saw her.
I wanted to stay and stare as she hovered above the horizon.
My cheeks and nose protested.
The dogs rushed the deck and we retreated inside.
I moved across from my usual Eastern-facing morning seat,
well-worn by hours of writing.
Dawn’s rusty tint was still an hour away.
For now, I craved a connection with her.
Her color was that of molten lava,
Or smelted metal ready to be forged. Yet she conveyed no threat.
Rather, the glowing orange hue remained self-contained in a (nearly) perfect orb sinking lower in the sky.
Peacefully, she drifted until she resembled the profile of an egg over-easy. She melted at the horizon like butter dissolving from its natural state.
Finally, she was gone,
Ready to dutifully illuminate the night sky of our neighbors to the west.