Gloriously, real waking sunlight is upon this corner of the world before 0600. I love the gain of light in March. Speeding toward the equinox. And I feel wist -yes, even then– for the coming summer day when the trend will, second by second, pluck the light away.
In the meantime mornings are Italian here. New England light is sharper, colder; but it creeps on the world with a shifting delicacy and a painter’s palette, as if shone through gauze while trying on its hues.