Opening the little writing studio door towards the west . . . just before dawn . . . reveals the November full moon seen through the somewhat leafed Kousa Dogwood . . . sailing away with her shroud of black. The lovely value of red leaves before the milky white moon is similar to the colors in my last photo, where the Red-tailed hawk flies toward the bright white Paper Birch. I often find myself between these two powerful celestial bodies of moon and sun, sleepily stepping into a fresh crisp morning. I say farewell to the moon and night, then close that western portal and walk towards an eastern horizon, as the sun begins its new plein air painting. The first sounds of this newly lit landscape are of a tea kettle and that of the shrill cry of the Red-tailed Hawk, calling to the new day in his unique way. His voice fills the dome of sky, as the light turns blankets of white and gray clouds into mauve and lavender comforter covers above the Mount Holyoke Range and Mount Tom. These old mountains do not escape the reach of light that paints their surfaces in tones of deeper cobalt blues. Hours pass before I chance to see my buteo landscape mate . . . this bird of prey so sacred to the Native Americans . . . as he stands within the English Hawthorne then leaps into flight and further away. I greatly value his presence in my life, along with each new unfolding day, adding pages and chapters to the volume of this New England lifestyle. I am joining Skywatch today . . . you might enjoy the many skies from around the world.
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