My living room was awash in pink at 7:53 this morning as I gathered up umbrella and book bag to leave for work.
I stepped out onto the damp deck, yellow, rust and peachy maple leaves plastered to its slippery surface. The air was too warm. A weird cloud hovered close on the horizon–a luminescent, feather-edged cross between cloud and fog that cast a rosy glow onto everything. Eerie.
I stood there breathing in the damp, oddly mild air for a moment, then turned to walk down the lower flight of wooden steps.
Dominating the other horizon was the maple tree that towers over the property. Each branch, I noticed for the first time, was greenish yellow at the base, turning peach then fiery orange toward the ends, with deep cherry at the very tips of each leaf. I stood and stared, breathless. Fire tree.
I thought to snap a quick pic with my phone but stopped myself. Just be in the moment, Kel. Just be here now. Anyway, you’ll never capture the magic.
And then came the topper: just to my right was a pale sliver of rainbow arcing through the powdery sky.
Are you trying to tell me something? I said, tilting my gaze skyward. I was tempted to seize it as a sign for me to relax and stop worrying about a certain something. I smiled then, and all anxiety I’d been carrying around for the past days slipped away.
Later in the morning, I found a magic marker rendition of a sunrise lying on the keyboard of my classroom computer.
Hmmm. Odd, I thought. There is an after-school program whose participants sometimes leave artwork in the room. I set the picture aside.
At break time, my colleague L asked me if I’d found the picture.
“What? You put that there?”
“Yes,” she said. “My daughter has a new habit of sketching the sunrise every morning when she wakes up. As soon as I looked at this morning’s drawing, I somehow thought: Kelly. I knew it was for you.”