I love my house at 6am. It is a quiet, bright spot in a still dark world. I adore the place just after noon. Just big enough for Margaret and I to cuddle somewhere and read the latest installment of Pinkalicious while Viola breathes softly asleep. By 5:30, the girls are all napped up and happy, dinner is cooking (or burning) and the windows are on watch for Riley's return. I have never liked my house in the light of the morning. If you ask me, the sun is too honest in it's earliest hours. The only shadows in the house are the ones made by the crumbs on the floor. Dust dances on light beams and there is nothing to hide the scuff marks on the base boards.
And then I saw these photographs on Heather Lea Zweig's blog, We Three Zweigs.
These images have one thing in common and it's the warmth they received from Sunday's morning light. Mornings are magical and the golden light beaming through our windows during daybreak reminds us that anything is possible.
So maybe the sun is most honest in it's earliest hours and maybe anything really is possible. A powerful, lovely combination. I am converted.
Bring on the light.