Photo by Bobby Bird Butenhoff
Sunset, looking back toward the fountain and my home.
When I lived, and flourished in the (very rural) country, I was treated to the most spectacular sunrises from my kitchen window.
On top of a hill, there was nothing between me and five mountain ranges, but the fog filled hollows. When the sun came over those ranges, it filled my home with a golden glow, for just an instant, and then began the theatre of color. As Sol began to burn off the white vapor from the valleys where it collected, that same white substance in the heavens would reflect and color the sky.
These days, the colors are the same, but the time and location have given the glow a slightly different aspect. It is still the brightest point of my day.